Favored Mistress
by judgelinch
Summary: Anti-rebel fic. Was supposed to be ironic. Feat. Palpatine, Roganda Ismaren, Irek Ismaren, Daala, Thrawn, Ysanne Isard, Galen Marek, etc. Multi-pairing; Palpatine x Roganda is the main.
1. Denunciation

If Stackpole can write silly things, why can't I? Translated from Russian.

Dedicated to the memory of Anna Nicole Smith.

_Now king David was old and stricken in years; and they covered him with clothes, but he gat no heat._

_Wherefore his servants said unto him, Let there be sought for my lord the king a young virgin: and let her stand before the king, and let her cherish him, and let her lie in thy bosom, that my lord the king may get heat._

_So they sought for a fair damsel throughout all the coasts of Israel, and found Abishag a Shunammite, and brought her to the king._

_The Old Testament, Third Book of Kings _

**Chapter 1 - Denunciation**

Grand Admiral Thrawn went to the "Literary café". Sat at the table, running his scarlet eyes over the munching crowd. His gaze stopped for a moment on the writhing onstage mime with an umbrella - but the collector, with whom the aesthete Admiral arranged to meet - and, perhaps, to exchange exhibits - was not here. Thrawn commed him and learned that he wouldn't come - he was detained by traffic cops and pulled to the station.

And then Thrawn noticed this work of art. Dolly girl, languid, bored, painted, sat alone at the table, and in everything about her - in graceful whimsical pose, in a sleepy, languishing look of her outlined eyes, was repleteness.

Waiter in a bow tie approached Thrawn. Thrawn studied the menu and ordered a lunch for himself and for the little friend, and ordered to bring a rose in a glass of wine for that beautiful lady.

The Gungan dragged Thrawn a dish and a bottle, and then, having made brief trip to the kitchen, went to the well-dressed lady and handed her a glass with a rose:

"For you from that blue mister!"

Little thing adjusted the strap on the bare shoulder and slowly began to suck a big elongated grape, not taking her eyes from Grand Admiral.

Thrawn signaled the waiter to move the tray with his already touched lunch, grabbed the little friend in his arms and rushed to the beautiful lady.

"Madam! My ysalamiri likes you!"

"Oh, what a cute little animal!" The beauty held out her hand and stroked Grand Admiral's pet. Ysalamiri moved from Thrawn's lap to hers, stood on his hind legs and began to sniff at her ear, lips and neck.

"Ouch! Where do you climb", the girl laughed.

"Because he's male", said Thrawn, "and what man would not be fascinated by you... May I know your name, madam?"

"Roganda Ismaren", languidly watching from under downcast long eyelashes, the coquette gasped, and Grand Admiral, in turn, identified himself.

From the cafe Thrawn took Roganda to his place - to show her his collection of priceless masterpieces, gathered from all corners of the galaxy, and enthusiastically expatiated, from what planet came here three shapeless color spots in the frame, to which school, to which the era of development this or that particular artist belonged. The girl listened politely, skipping past the ears, and Thrawn smoothly lead to beholding two or three paintings hanging in his bedroom.

After beholding of those Thrawn rose from bed, made an expedition to the bathroom. The ysalamiri, accustomed to the hands, deeply and sincerely convinced that all people are his masters, who saw in his life nothing but love and affection, jumped from his chair, ran to Roganda, stood on his hind legs and offered her his neck - "Touch me!"

"Good boy, good", cooed Roganda, lulling and scratching Admiral's pet. The ysalamiri habitually climbed on her shoulders, curling around her neck, as a boa. Thrawn returned from the bathroom, jealously rescued his pet and said that it's time to say goodbye. Roganda sat on the bed edge, biting her painted lips, and thought she wasn't even offered a drink.

Because she is an ysalamiri. Because she also belongs to someone who feeds her, puts an embroidered collar with sequins on her, and bags her under his blanket in the night. And lots of people, humans and not, are ready to exclaim at the sight of her: "What a cute little animal!" and stretch their hands, pat and cuddle her, but only one is consent to feed, groom and pamper her. And for that ysalamiri must contend with their masters, whoever they are.

X X X

It's hard to tell what was more odious - the new Pestage's budget or "Concept of the Primacy of Human Culture." The only difference was that "The Concept of the Primacy..." was gladly signed by the Emperor (and that was the big and bold reason for attributing fierce racism to the monarch, even though Palpatine himself has never been a xenophobe and willingly put up with such a flaw of his henchmen, as, for example, horns, if they were useful to him), but the budget...

In addition to raising the air tax (very important for Coruscant!), Pestage's government planned to replenish the budget at the expense of several other tax initiatives. The ministry counted the estate tax, which now amount to at least 20 imperial credits per square meter and will pay for construction or purchase of housing area exceeding 300 square meters. m. raised the penalty for late payment of utilities and the tax on the excess area. The rate of excise duty on alcohol is planned to increase this year by 36%. At least double from the current 3 credits per 1 cu. cm engine to increase excise duty on the import of all, absolutely all vehicles. They also discussed the possibility of increasing the value of patents for gas stations. And, of course, the first thing cut back social benefits, retirement pensions and disability benefits, unemployment benefits and salaries to state employees - and reduced funding for health care.

In short, a very unpopular measure.

Vizier Sate Pestage - same old, shrill-gorged, obstinate Nabooian, like his boss - came with folders, reports, and unabashedly proclaimed,

"The expenditure budget goes beyond revenue to 185 billion... The only way out is borrowing 185 billion at 45% from the Vongs!"

His Majesty looked at his vizier like at a Gungan and bellowed,

"I have never borrowed from neighbors!"

"But if you don't, you are bankrupt. You will be then lynched here."

"I'll declare that it was you who stole the money", Emperor fumed.

"Yes", said the impassive Sate, "you can do it, but money will not appear because of this."

"The main thing is I'll turn a blow away from me. And for you the best solution would be to retire... and generally to leave the borders of our galaxy."

"To the Vongs, sire?" Sate asked.

"Well, you have already become friends with them", Palpatine scarily grinned. "They'll not exclude you".

To hear it from the author of The Concept of the Primacy of Human Culture, prescriptively snubbing all non-humans in the Empire, was strange and intolerable. But there was another feature of Pestage, outshining even his fierce, furious hatred to the non-humans: greed. For a penny Pestage was ready to kiss even Vong's boots.

The Vizier bowed and retired - to set out to his pre-prepared shelter on the "Ghost" base on Tatooine.

X X X

Mara Jade was going to the Imperial Red Guard training center, where Force-sensitive agents also trained. Presenting a badge and being let in the yard, on the approach to the building Mara abruptly stopped. Favorite toy of the aged Emperor Palpatine, professional keptie, the kind that leeches off a wealthy lover, was going towards Mara. Translucent purple scarf - two meters, even a two and half - waving around, her heels pounded the flagstones. Over-the-top number of jewelry, purchased with pocket money received for the midnight warming of decrepit imperial body, shone and shimmered. Her savvy face, her tiny lithe body, her seductive walk exuded fragrance gleaming reflections of orgies she passed through. Mara ran across the path of the courtesan and exclaimed:

"Was it interesting with the blue one?"

Thick vulgar paint only emphasized the depraved grin on her cunning and brazen baby face. Mara continued,

"What will you give me lest I tell lord Sidious?"

Oh, Mara would gladly took possession of many damned hussy's toys. Her elite maid DB-3765 - droid with a woman's figure and even with an imitation of hair, or one of her speeders, which she changed along with the color of her dresses. In the name of Darth Bane, agent Jade would not refuse just from concubine's bracelet.

Roganda laughed in her face.

"Mara, let me pass", was only thing she said.

She opened the door and, nodding the guards, headed to the gym. Mara trailed behind.

X X X

Unable to sell the dirt to Roganda – we'll bring it to a person in authority, passionately interested in her discredit in the eyes of Palpatine!

The Director of the Imperial Intelligence, pursing her scarlet, painted in a tune to her tunic, lips, gazed at Mara with a piercing look of scarily varicolored eyes.

"Madame Director - I have a great dirt. Kindly take a look!"

Ysanne took the datapad, which contained dirty little story about branchy cornua of His Majesty.

"How did you get it?" Strictly, but mirthly clarified the boss.

"Bought from one paparazzi. Hung out at the central office. When I came out, he walked up to me - "Would you like cheesecake?" He says he tried to sell his sensation about the adventures of loving Admiral to several newspapers - albeit blue, he is popular among white women! - But the editors refused. Freedom of speech kicked the bucket, along with the republic... I looked over his goods," unable to suppress a broad smile, told agent Jade, "and voila!"

Ysanne was deeply convinced that Force-users don't buy anything: "You want to give it to me for free!" - Or, alternatively, hand three credits and avert seller's eyes, assuring them that this is three hundred. Then, the seller comes to senses - but the buyer is already gone.

Ysanne wanted to look at the laminated, with the monogram of Falleen royal house, invitation to Xizor's birthday, which she'd received this morning, but left in the house. It wasn't befitting to come unchaperoned, but the only gentleman that she was dating will come hand to hand not with her, but with Roganda, and she will, as always, take a confidante with her. Isard looked back at Mara: she had only one evening dress, blue, on one strap, out of fashion three years ago.

"How could you not try to recover the cost of acquiring this datapad", drawled Isard. "At once brought it to me and haven't offered to Roganda?"

"You are perceptive, ma'am!"

"And how much did she pay?" Grinning, Isard added: "If it's not a secret."

In other words: Mara, go snacks! But there was nothing to share!

"She laughed in my face!"

"So?"

"She did not buy!"

"Her confidence in her own indispensability, in unwavering Palpatine's benevolence", Isard said slowly, hands folded on the table, then leaning forward, "should have its grounds, Mara. She is not his wife. She should be interested that dirt wouldn't reach him." Index and middle fingers held a cigarette, Isard flicked a lighter and pulled an ashtray up to her.

"Ma'am", blinking in the smoke, Mara assured her, "she didn't even talk to me. Puts on airs, believes he would forgive her."

"Or does the task Palpatine gave her."

"?"

"Spying for Thrawn, Mara. And then we with this", short red nail tapped the stack of photos, "won't destroy their relationship, but rather make a fool of ourselves."

Mara imagined, how her patroness takes it out on her, being made a fool by her fault. Yet she failed to imagine Palpatine in the role of a pimp.

"But how is it that he will underlay his own mistress to all there... Why should he share? He made a home for her, he had her loaded with money... And it turns out, he keeps her not for himself but for others?"

"How is it! Yes, just as I had been sent to Soontir Fel" thought Isard balefully. Fortunately, Soontir didn't risk to involve with the courtier, and Ysanne's acting skills were tapped out, and to spot her insincerity was easy. When she reported back, the Emperor merely shrugged: "I had no doubt that Fel would refuse." Ysanne then thought that Palpatine decided to knock off her arrogance this way.

"Their child is already eight, Roganda's pretty face lost the charm of newness."

Mara faltered, staring fixedly at the stack of photographs.

"So, find that paparazzi and find out, if he had picked her or she had him."

"Will be done, ma'am. But, even if _he _did... maybe she used the Force."

"Bewitch, as the ruck says." Isard laughed mirthlessly. "No, Mara. Have you seen Thrawn's pet?"

"Well", the agent responded, puzzled.

"Have you ever come to Thrawn in a blaster shot distance?"

"No, ma'am". Confusion increased.

"And if you had, Mara, you would have felt like ysalamiri neutralizes the Force. With this beast, he is immune against you, Force users. So, for the future, if you meet a person with ysalamiri..." Isard cracked another sad smile, looking in her confidante's widened eyes, and once again became serious. "She couldn't attract him with the Force, Mara. Could not. Go, figure out from whom the initiative came."

Jade didn't run anywhere, took out her comlink.

"Rayfal, it's Mara. I'm about Thrawn and the white woman. Tell me, is it she who wooed him or vice versa?"

After a brief monologue at the end of the channel, Mara sheathed the transmitter and told:

"This is him. He handed her a rose in a glass, imagine what vulgarity!"

"Our Grand Admiral is so aesthetic", Isard almost laughed, hearing the blatant envy in Mara's voice, with whom, obviously, no one has ever acquainted this way. With the last puff she smoked it up to filter and crushed her cigarette in the ashtray.

"So, this is not the task?"

"Just arrogance. Or a sane idea that nobody will prevent you from reproducing these photos, that would still fall to Palpatine. Despite the fact she will pay you or not." Isard scooped the calamitous pictures to a drawer. "Dismsissed".

Towards evening, II Director came with her report before the menacing eyes of His Majesty, asserting that this is the cause of extreme urgency and importance. Ishin-Il-Raz, who was appointed for an audience, had to be kept waiting.

On the threshold of the emperor's scarlet office Ysanne knelt, bent so low that swept the floor with her streaked hair,

"May the Force be with you, Your Majesty, it's pleasure to see you in good health!"

"Stop fawning", Sidious waved his hand, leaning back in his chair and twisting his nervous fingers, studded with rings. His extensive table was littered with reports and denunciations. "To the point".

Ysanne raised her head, not straightening from the pose that expressed extreme respect, and, avoiding the sight of wrinkled and freaked, senile buckwheated, pale face of His Majesty, deadening against crimson walls of the office and heavy, embroidered, multi-layered black robes with a high stiff collar, disguising his flabby neck, - she looked in the panoramic window, at air traffic floating behind his massive chair.

"Your Majesty, information about the betrayal of Grand Admiral Thrawn has come through. In the folder are all details about his machinations with state property, but beyond that... Your Majesty, you are cuckold! And it's Thrawn who cornuted you!"

Palpatine met her statement with absolutely no emotion. Apart from rebels and a hole in the budget, this day brought him yet staffing problems. "Sate has sold out to the Vongs", the monarch was musing. "To fall into debt - which means that in case of delay in payment our warlike neighbors will intervene and loot our possessions..." Amid all these problems, the number of branching antlers didn't touch his soul.

"Since when are you peeping into other people's keyholes?" Palpatine squeaked. "Get down to business, more important for the Empire, and not those backstairs gossips."

Isard put in the patulous denunciation of Grand Admiral Thrawn: that he has not lost its connection with the Chiss, and is planning to sell a couple of state-owned flotillas to his blue tribesmen - however, the data were contradictory: according to other informants, Thrawn planned to give them away for free, to be accepted back to Chiss Ascendancy. The denunciation was supported with interrogation protocols of witnesses, but the holographic recording of negotiations and compromising documentation were missing. In the explanatory memorandum Isard claimed that insidious Admiral made every effort not to leave evidence.

Therefore, there was no reason to go to court without evidence. Only allegations could be drawn from the material, provided by Isard, even with the participation of a couple of dozen competent pettifogger. And Palpatine was not inclined to remove and imprison his own people without an investigation, believing dubious denunciations.

X X X

Leaning on the elbow, jewels glittering in the dim lamplight, Roganda reclined in bed and read an article that an aiwha died in Aiwhary - or was poisoned, or simply from malnutrition. This expensive entertainment was considered yet healthy, and wealthy mommies took their offspring, suffering from imbecility and cerebral palsy, to the aiwhary. Roganda was terribly sorry for the hungry winged creatures, day and night drudging under the saddles of such contingent. How about to build a personal aiwhary, but how many thousands a day costs the feeding of such a large animal?

At this point, her master crossed the threshold. She lifted the heavy hair construction, topping her head, and charmingly smiled, searching for signs of irritation on her patron's wrinkled face.

"My girl", rasped her lover, "I was expecting you to be more careful."

"I'm sorry, master!" dispassionately uttered Roganda, poorly understanding what incurred the displeasure of the lord.

Palpatine threw her a packet of photos.

"You didn't even notice who took photos of you - an agent or a droid."

And if I saw - what, to snatch a blaster and to shoot at a droid in front of everyone? Roganda wasn't that powerful in the Force to, continuing to flirt with Thrawn, both find the outline of the photographer and make him to erase all the pictures.

"Combine business with pleasure," said Palpatine very quietly. "Try to figure out his reliability. I was told that Thrawn is in talks with Chiss Ascendancy and is about to convey our vessels to his motherland. Soon, I expect you to confirm or refute."

And he said with the tone of such finality that Roganda understood: she doesn't have a right to ask: "But how?" How to ingratiate and worm out of him as much as possible about his machinations against the royalty and his plans for the future?

Palpatine didn't pursue this topic. She undressed her sponsor, laid him down, gave him a massage. Painfully pulling at her hair, he took off her frame-like hairpiece with the hoops, and the shower of black strands covered them both. The girl began to lick her master, everything from head to toe, covering him with greedy kisses.

Exhausted Roganda's hands, neck and jaw hurt unbearably. Tongue has refused to obey. Swaying to the rhytme of her movements, small breasts beat on her master's skinny thigh. Wrinkled hook still was hanging limply. Studded with rings, veins bulging over withered spotty skin, most august hand relentlessly controlled her head.

"My child, you have to wait a little while for a clone to grow up, who will be able to provide you the proper attention", Sidious said in uterine voice, clenching her small elastic buttock and slapping painfully.

"Spank me, sire, I'm such a sad sack", Roganda said coyly, knowing full well that even this couldn't help him.

Roganda clearly remembered that morning when she woke up next to the most shabby, disgusting old man she has ever seen, and the first few seconds of pondering, where she had yesterday picked up that Methuselah. At times, immediately after waking up she still felt she should be in her frail cell, but then memories returned - as the stormtroopers raided the Jedi shelter on Belsavis, slaughtering masters and knights and pulling padawans away, as few have ceased to resist, surrendered, promising to carry out whatever they say, and were herded into the hold, as several teenagers with pigtails were sent to the Red Guard training center, as his majesty the emperor himself for his own amusement decided to inspect, how those cadets, who survived basic training on Coruscant and Yinchorr, are fighting on the final massacre trial, and also - how many Force-users were recruited; as, ominously glaring sunken, watery eyes with pouches on acute wrinkled face, overlord rasped: "Why so few?" The Emperor was not that outraged, slightly angry and disappointed: so few Padawans were prudent and remained his faithful servants - and what has changed, except signs, except that he hoisted the crown on his wrinkled balding head? Roganda considered the old man, wrapped in a long-skirted black gown, and sincerely thought that Chancellor Palpatine with traces of former beauty and this shriveled crowned morel must be two different people. This is but a counterpart, Roganda thought, and thirty years older! Replaced! At this moment the master beckoned her with a knotty finger with a large ring. She approached. The carrier of the scepter asked her name, pawed over her cheek, called a lackey and ordered to wash and dress the girl and - in midnight to bring her to his bedroom!

Soon the overlord said that he could not sleep without her, and Roganda finally moved out of the barracks to his crimson apartments. She walked around the apartment in an evening dress and makeup, with hair and heels. He was all day at work, and it might seem to enviers like Mara Jade, that the favored mistress is all day lying on the couch, bored, crying, telling herself that her life is hard and clumsy, and thinks only about the embellishment of her appearance. But in reality Roganda's day was planned through: erotic massage courses - strip dance lessons - gym - holocron and training trance - hard work for lord Sidious' relaxation and entertainment.

Finally he fell asleep.

Roganda went out onto the balcony, leaned on the railing, breathing in unusually fresh air and an exposing herself to whiffles of the night wind that blowed smell of Palpatine's cologne away from her skin.

She stared into the sparkling depths of streets, on the whopper of the rebuilt Temple, illumined by metropolis night lights. The danger seemed to be over - after the altercation with his vizier, the old fart has decided not to throw lightning bolts, despite the hopes and threats of feebleminded Mara. How strange they are, these laymen. They attach disproportionate importance to such nonsense as fidelity and jealousy. The templars never bothered such nonsense. In the Temple the concept of "my boyfriend" did not exist by itself; there was the only current sexual partner - one who is nearby, who fits in size and is also experiencing a similar appeal of the body, as instinct, natural and not worth breaking a lance about it (like laymen do), as the need of food and oxygen. And if he is on a combat mission in the next flash point, then who will wait for him - and still is unknown, whether he returns safe and if he returns at all. If he doesn't come back – no reason for tears. Constancy and love are invented by the laity to justify their greed, and in the Temple, where all thoughts were pure and free from attachments - to personal property - all while living on the full material security - there were no worries about life, housing problems and needs of money, extorted by the laity from more wealthy partners. Would lord Darth Sidious, with his powerful mind and width of views, descend to the level of primitive narrow-minded layman, powerless mediocrity, and would he take revenge on his girl because she dined at a table with another man? Is it a worthy problem, comparable with issues of the budget deficit? For such a hole in the state budget, which was made by the emperor himself, who had taken 180 billion to equip the factory, producing his own clones - according to the imperial constitution, the hearty old man could face impeachment. However, Roganda wasn't too dreaded by the prospect of a possible dethronisation of her patron. He had somehow managed to launder billions that in due - namely Republican - time were borrowed for the clone production on Kamino.

At this point a translucent figure of a gaunt girl with striped montrals and lekku has woven out of thin air before her. In phantom's breast was gaping burnt-through hole.

"Traitor", the ghost hissed. "You're thriving!" The dead woman slammed her transparent disembodied fist on Roganda's head, and her hand freely passed through, down to her shoulders.

"You have refused to perform your own functions, the same work under the guidance of the same person, just under another guise."

"We perished in the fight for the idea we supported", the Jedi hissed.

"For the name and emblem", Roganda corrected, wrapping tighter in her transparent negligee, through which small firm breasts and dark nipples shone in the night lights. "You have refused to obey orders of the authorities, but we - those few who remained faithful to him – it's we who must call you traitors. What was left to him, except punish you."

"We took an oath to the country as a whole, as a democratic state, whose institutions presuppose turnover of officials, not personally to this particular Chancellor." Ahsoka perched on the railing in the lotus position. Lights shone through her, windows and signs and lights of speeders, whizzing past. "Who had sent us to the senseless slaughter - orchestrated by him – us and clone troops, entrusted to us."

Roganda shrugged her shoulders, sat on a bench, on either side of which was a vase with pungent-smelling flowers, and opened the magazine, brought from the room, indicating that she isn't interested in Ahsoka's contentious company. Light from the street was enough. Her mind was back on the heavy and unprepossessing aiwha life, starving in the barbaric exploitation under humans.

Ahsoka overheard the thoughts, something she wasn't able in her lifetime.

"Look, ask your sweetie! Seeing how he dresses you up, I realized that he isn't so stingy as he pretends before the general public, appearing daily in the same black cloak, posing as a poor guardian of national welfare around the clock!"

"How much pathos, Ahsoka!"

"So says master Dooku ghost!"

"Shame on you for communicating with Dooku! You fought with him!"

"Sidious betrayed him. In the same way as all of us."

Roganda settled down with her feet on the bench, and rings on the toes of tiny feet caught and reflected the glare of light. Favored mistress turned the page of tabloid and began to read as COMPNOR members have problems with sitting in the former temple. Scary, they say. Ghosts haunt. And cry out for vengeance. Forceless scientists, interviewed by a reporter, shrugged and insisted that there are no ghosts in nature and there can not be!

"Roganda, who are you talking to?" the awakened usurper crawled out onto the balcony.

"Oh! Chancellor!" Ahsoka waved, wide and toothy smile.

"Get lost!"

"Okay, okay, my lord Sidious! I'll go haunt master Skywalker!"

Dead Ahsoka made a handstand, kicking up her lifted up feet, made the back somersault from the balcony railing and dissolved.


	2. Courtiers

**Chapter 2 - ****Courtiers **

Along the corridor of the Imperial Palace, heading to the Imperial Information Center, sweeping the floor with the shadowcloak, gravely marched advisor of His Majesty, old Sly Moore – a creepy bald harpy with a frozen face, like a porcelain mask after the countless cosmetic surgeries, a frightening impression accentuated by lifeless white eyes. Nearby, on long jointed legs, like a spider, egg-like capsule paced, stuffed with equipment – a life-support chamber, from its half-opened flaps, like from the shell, a sickly old man looked out.

"Using the dark side, Madame Moore", he mumbled, "you need an extreme caution, observing safety procedures. Have a look at me - I don't get out of the life-support chamber, but I'm only forty."

"Apparently, the use of Force had a detrimental effect on your health, lord Cronal, because you've acted incorrectly", Sly snapped ruthlessly. "For example, his majesty the emperor, also affected by the ravages of the Force - you didn't yet work with us then, and I remember how he had aged in one night, after a duel with Mace Windu, when both used dark side against each other - the octogenarian looks better than you, walks by himself, retained the clarity of mind..."

"Uses such tool to support its image as the presence of a young lover and the birth of crown prince", Cronal willingly put in. "For ignorant people to clop their tongues: turns out, the old chap is still hoo... However, a beautiful woman is just inevitably unfaithful, like a literary translation, and in any case after Emperor's death the DNA test will show the inconsistency of prince's claims."

The advisor only sighed. Countless times she has made – to the then senator, then to Chancellor - Palpatine proposals, both formal and obscene, and he always made excuses. Sly thought that he had always had exaggerated demands - reddishness faded, he lived up to wrinkles, and still he couldn't find a match. Found in his seventies.

"Hey, droid!" Cronal shouted, looking from his capsule sash. "Turn back, stop trailing after us!

Busily beeping from behind bureaucrats, astromech changed direction and disappeared behind a corner. Cronal and Moore would have been surprised if they followed him - all the doors opened by themselves before an odd droid, even those equipped with a combination lock. R2N7 headed to the apartment of the favored mistress, and his highness the crown prince. The guards didn't pay attention to him. Ascended in the elevator on many floors up and sunk into the holy of holies, astromech remotely entered access code, moved into the Ismarens' apartment and stopped only in the room resembling a droid repair workshop, with cluttered hardware, contrasting with other furniture of favorite's apartments, completely disposing to relaxation.

R2's top bounced away, the "body" bent and out of droid's womb a boy appeared. In his eight years, curled up in fetal position, he still could fit in the disemboweled droid that had lost its former navigation and repairing skills – there were left only a few components of the former filling - and, finally breathing deeply, he began to warm up and stretch muscles, as a padawan in the beginning of the training. Precociously serious baby face, comfortable black hakama, a training lightsaber – he lacked only a braid.

Lackey, protocol TS-340, reported the young master that the tutor has arrived. White-eyed professor Magrody, after undergoing the familiar procedure of searching and scanning, that has never caused his objections - the pay envelope of prince's tutor hundredfold exceeded the modest salary that he received in the Institute and for lecturing - was let in by guards, and Irek perplexed him from the very threshold:

"Professor, can you get plans of life-support capsule from anywhere? I'm going to rebuffer the data I've read out. Tell me, is it at least standard?"

The prince began transmitting the technical specifications of equipment, which he was able to recognize. Magrody watched the pattern, emerging on a monitor, gathering formulas. However, the last Mechu-deru adept identified only a small fraction of data, missing for the complete reconstruction of the apparatus and its filling. Irek bit his lip: when he knows more, he will be able to connect to the life support system, and he immediately undermines the equipment supporting stunted life of Lord Cronal.

X X X

"Shame on my gray hair!" the Vizier habitually thought, hiding his wrinkled bald head under a hood and billowing cape in colors of the mantle. "I know this man for almost 60 years! "

Sate drank brotherhood with Palpatine when he worked as a simple clerk in the State Administration of Theed, and Pestage got in there as an intern after graduation. Sate then went hunting in a T-shirt "Shoot the Gungan - cleanse the Great Motherland", but shot, alas, only birds - and missed. Hard-nosed, meticulous, stolid, taciturn Sate instantly realized how to compensate for the lack of leadership skills - to hang on the hem of one's mantle, in order to climb the corporate ladder. Since then Pestage didn't drop this mantle. He cheated, dodged, spying and killing, covering the activities of Darth Sidious. He was appointed vizier after the coronation. He performed most of the day to day duties for the state affairs management, and stole gently and carefully. Compared with this most august misuse of funds, the hard work, with which Pestage and his Ruling Council invented how to cover previous imperial graft - when Palpatine started to build a summer residence on the Great Motherland near Moenia - seemed ridiculous.

And now, for all his meticulous work Palpatine sends Sate Pestage to retire!

"He keeps only droid lackeys. He doesn't trust the doctors, but from your hands he will take." Sardonic grin touched Pestage's thin bloodless lips. Knowing Palpatine for almost 60 years, Sate has never imagined that he was capable to get up to something like this in his eighties. The old man decided to snatch the last trophy from life. Now, the latest passion of elderly Sidious sat in the vizier's office, tiny white hands, studded with rings and bracelets, folded on her lap, - hands, from which Palpatine will meekly take and swallow his death. Sate went on:

"So, when you hand him the pills in the night, do give to him these two pills instead of your average medicine." He launched a package of drugs on the table and promised, "I won't conduct an investigation - the man was in age, it's time to pass. And I will transfer 200 000 on your account, you will get rid of the old fart, and provide yourself for the rest of your life!"

Roganda glanced with resilient look of bottomless eyes, shining the impudent stars, on the ruts of vizier's wrinkles, like bright furrows standing out against his purple hood, and, half turning, seemed to deliberately - and most likely, so it was – choose the angle to emphasize the delicate oval of her rouged face, giggled:

"Oh, Vizier, and you are asking me to kill the goose that lays golden eggs for 200,000?"

Sate frowned.

"Million", Roganda said.

"Three hundred..."

"Poison him yourself..."

"Five hundred..."

"Seven..."

"Persuaded, 700,000. Now I'll give an order to transfer the deposit to your account."

"These two hundred thousand you've initially promised?" eagerly asked Roganda.

"The rest will list when I launder the money – debit to the expenses for the funeral of Palpatine and my coronation."

And immediately after the coronation – Sate mused - I'll have to send the Death Star to Byss and blow the local edifice, so that the boss won't return in the clone body! And even if a clone appears - the vizier thought - who will obey him? Who would believe that Palpatine is reborn? Just a young impostor.

Pestage for a second imagined the squabble over the throne, what will come after him, as his 14 children and 57 grandchildren will send stranglers and poisoners to each other, and inly sang another dithyramb to the principles of constitutional, elective monarchy of Nabooian style.

Roganda gracefully rested her chin on the thin wrist and asked unsubtly,

"And don't you exclude the risk that you won't be elected? You cannot bribe or intimidate the entire Senate, there are too many of them. And you have a serious rival - sure, Isard will run for... beside all her influence, she is just younger."

Pestage leaned back in his chair. With her considerable knowledge, the babe lacks any vision or outlook. That'll come with time, one might say, if the Vizier was not going to kill her immediately after the implementation of his order.

"And it's not your concern. I can give a hundred percent guarantee that I will be elected the emperor." Sate didn't intend to expatiate, how and with whom he made arrangements. "Your task is to accelerate the process."

Roganda rose, a box of pills disappeared in the folds of her skirt. Pestage's security escorted her to the exit from the government building. Roganda got in the speeder - green this time, the color of the dress - behind the wheel DB-3765 sat - and got off from the guarded parking platform.

X X X

Roganda dropped the box of poison pills in a jewel-box. Sat down at the computer, checking her bank account. The vizier didn't disappoint with the front money, but... Pestage regarded prospects from the viewpoint of a layman, not knowing that the Lord would immediately detect misfeaser's intentions in the Force. To bring a surprise from Myrkr? Roganda immediately brushed off the idea: you never confuse the feeling of abrupt deafness, caused by the Force-suppressing presence of ysalamiri.

Sparking like blades, dead warriors of the Temple began to emerge before Roganda. Master Plett, who gathered padawans in the shelter on Belsavis at the beginning of the Purge, brother Lagan, other padawans she knew, hefty form of horned master Tiin, beside him - outlines of inseparable even in death Kolar, Fisto - tentacled head hovered a few inches above the stump of the neck, and one-armed Windu - and, finally, Count Dooku. They surrounded Roganda, and she lowered her head and closed her eyes tight, clamping her ears, but visions of the dead Jedi inevitably crowded around, different voices shouted out of tune:

"Kill the Emperor! Kill the Emperor!"

Roganda fell face down, hands covering her head, trying to stifle the inexorable demands of ghosts with the sobs.

She didn't know how many minutes, maybe hours have passed, how long she laid there, desperately crushing her dress, crying and listening to bad, repeated cries of ghosts, and finally calls of the dead Jedi subsided. Voices gradually died down, as if Roganda was swept by bountiful, black wave of huge, all-consuming, ruthless and merciful, shimmering sea of dark Force.

So, Sidious was back from work.

Roganda flew towards him and pressed her whole body to his, entwining her arms round his neck, buried her tear-stricken forehead in her master's quaggy cheek, and whispered,

"My master."

"Tidy yourself and go to dinner", Palpatine said, taking off the girl nestling to him. Lackeys were busy in the dining room. Deafening disturbance in the Force faded, and everything fell into place. Roganda again felt the presence of security guards at the doors of monarchic apartments, the echoes of the staff, running somewhere at the bottom, even slight vibration of the Force emitted by flowering plants. To bring an ysalamiri? When he feels and drives away ghosts haunting only her? He reads her like an open book. Would he not be able to detect the threat in the Force when she hands him the poison?

X X X

Despite his office was daily – in morning and in evening - checked for the bugs, despite the silencing energy field, Sate was still listened by high-accuracy devices invulnerable to silencing field.

"When Roganda poisons Palpatine, we present evidence that the instigator was Pestage."

"And will she poison him, ma'am?" questioned the agent Jade.

"You bet". The might-have-been First Lady of the Galactic Empire looked down to her large hands, wide palms, imagining herself wring and break the scrawny, flaccid monarch's neck. "And, having Pestage eliminated, after my coronation we'll sort out the mess in this sleazo joint."

"I'm with you, ma'am", Mara gasped loyally.

X X X

And the next day after this conversation, the patroness showed to Mara a recording made by a hidden camera.

Morel, shriveled like a mummy, was lying helplessly on a mountain of pillows. He was all blackened and haggard. Three doctors, emphatically shaking their heads and lifting their hands in dismay, one by one left the deathbed. Black cave of mouth with brown stumps of rotten teeth, mumbled, barely squeezing out the latest wheeze - the name of his son:

"Irek."

Overcoming disgust, the boy bent over the dying man.

"Irek, I have done for you everything I could, and now you have to take care of yourself. In your hands is a lot of power, a lot of opportunities. I am not eternal. Not everything depends on the parents... Take care of your mother, take care of yourself, acquire the heirs, to have someone to pass the property... and everything in the world."

On the threshold the lackey diffidently began:

"Madame Roganda wants to say goodbye."

"Don't let her in, I said. She must not see it."

Loud and irregular breathing escaped his rash-covered lips, like the majestic old man was supported in the world of living only by the Force. His watery gray eyes, that haven't lost a meaningful expression, dug into child's face, twisted with horror. Fingers studded with rings convulsively clutched the sheets.

With this the record came to an end.

"Reports come that this is still going on. He already doesn't recognize anybody." Isard leaned back in her chair and stretched out, crisping her fingers. "It's time to act, Mara..."

X X X

Artificial light offended the eye, the lamp was built in a bare wall, right above the bullpen bunks. Madame Director personally and with great pleasure wooled long fluffy hair of half-naked girlish form, crouched on the cold cement floor, twisted arms in metal cuffs behind her back. Drips of tears and smeared mascara stained delicate cheeks of the beauty, at this time flushed not because of rouge, but because of Isard's slaps and tweaks.

"You will give evidence and publicly confirm that you've poisoned Palpatine, getting paid for it by Pestage. I warrant you a separate cell and a bowl of glop for the rest of your life. Refuse to testify – then your death will be long and painful."

Ysanne triumphed, vulturely circling around the defenseless prisoner.

Suddenly Roganda made a powerful jerk – sparks flew, handcuffs snapped open. Mara threw both arms forward, holding her back by the Force. In vain. Roganda jumped up and, pivoting, punched Isard in the face - blood splattered, nose slid sideways, two teeth flew out - and kicked agent Jade in the groin. Neutralizing the pain with the Force, Mara grabbed her saber and blaster. The bolt at close range hit Roganda's body, flashed red, and smoking a severed hand with a sparkling protruding wires hit the floor. The body collapsed, in torn chest from under the layer of synthetic flesh, with fake muscles and veins, with a fake heart, the same wires and circuits stuck. Mara gathered the split-off arm and stared, puzzled. Ysanne sat down next, wiping the blood with her handkerchief.

"HRD", she mumbled, choking on blood.

Madame Director called the security, and paralyzed HRD was taken away; passionless security guard and agent Jade brought their bleeding patroness to the hospital. When meddroids suppressed the bleeding and set her nose in place, Isard, blinking her bunged eyes, snuffled out,

"Such twin is worth nine million at least."

Mara didn't believe her eyes. But for the pain between her legs – she should go to the X-ray examination, what if a bone cracked from a powerful blow, and internal organs are torn? - Mara was afraid of internal bleeding - she would have refused to take on a hearsay that there is such a miracle of technology. HRD – human replica droid! Dragging Roganda to the bullpen, the agent Jade clearly felt her heart rate, and pulse, and hurried breath, and cold sweat on the fighting off little captive, and the pores on her skin, and tiny, barely visible hairs on her arms, and her nail was broken when Roganda scratched Mara's cheek, and when Madame Isard began to pull her hair, the HRD wept real tears.

Isard leaned to Mara and croaked,

"Bring me the real one. Characteristics of this woman are sent to all police stations and all spaceports. She hasn't come out beyond the administrative sector - I wasn't informed."

"Roganda could pass the cordon, using the Force", Mara muttered.

"So then do use the Force, for that end I've hired you!" Isard snorted.

X X X

Sate Pestage was late – he waited too long, when at last the emperor dies from magical pills. Pestage's security was fired and replaced with Red Guards – the Vizier never budged from the place, under house arrest.

Two guards blocked the way before agent Jade, crossed their energy peaks in front of her and roared in unison,

"Hold off!"

"You want to let me go!" Mara waved her hand - and didn't reach out to their consciousness, like she ran into a permacrite wall.

"Turn back!"

Mara practiced at their training center and knew that the selection criteria were very strict - the height not less than 185 cm, flawless reliability, desirably high midichlorian count. They hit the titanic qualifying standards. The right one did fit. The left one - on the contrary, he seemed to be a dwarf.

"Aren't you too short for a guardsman!" Mara snarled, activating her lightsaber.

Soon the tall guardsman was lying on the floor in a heap of red rags, pierced with his own spear. The midget managed to dodge and block her attacks, but long-skirted, not in size, robes finally impeded the guard. Mara slashed through midget's head, but he drew back with the Force acceleration - just the helmet broke. From under the chipped face shield and a fallen cope Roganda's flushed face appeared. Her forehead, cheek and cheekbone were crossed with the red stripe of a red burn - the impact of the sword hitting the metal face plate.

Her incognito declassified, the favored mistress silently made a giant leap - and, like a fly on the wall, flattened ten meters above the floor. Mara jammed her saber and threw it towards Roganda, but the red blade, like a boomerang, bounced off an invisible field around the form clinging to the wall and, spinning, flew to cut off Mara's head.

Great Bane! She didn't even have to make passes to redirect the saber! Mara turned and ran, dodging her own sword flying after her, a bloody fragment of the peak - after breaking in half cut of current, but still able to pierce through – which sprung from the dead guardsman's chest, and a functioning peak, which Roganda was operating a moment ago, then by hand and now non-contact.

Mara made a high flip and caught her lightsaber, fighting off the chip, and crossed her crimson blade with the shaft of buzzing energy peak.

While a fight was in the outside, the Vizier took to his heels, using the remote and calling his fully automated armored vehicle. Guardsmen, placed deeper in the house and closer to Vizier's body, began firing at the vessel and at the very old fart, but both targets were equipped with reversed polarity deflector fields (Chiss production) - in Pestage's case, portable - to reflect blaster bolts at shooters themselves.

Thus ended Sate Pestage's faithful, nearly 60 years long service under Palpatine.

X X X

From the Senate flying rostrum Bail Organa yelled his usual antipalpatinism,

"His Imperial Majesty's lavishness is of great concern! Clone Wars are over for a long time, and barrage patroling of the territory and the suppression of sporadic bursts of rebel activity doesn't require the content of such a vast navy and regular governmental orders to produce more and more new SDs - with 185 billion budget deficit!"

Palpatine spieled off an address about the hidden threat of an impending expansion of militant neighbors. He could involve Doriana, Thrawn and those few witnesses who could confirm that the Vongs indeed rush along the border, waiting for the right moment, looking out, where to strike. The thing is that the hidden threat was known only to the top management - and for the time being they didn't publicize the information about the conquistadors. But at this point it was in their interest to divulge the reason for detention and capacity of building of imperial war machine.

Opposition members raised the cry, "Lies! We do not believe it! "

It became clear why Organa, Mothma and Garm Bel Iblis have perched on one podium. They hurried their chair close to the Rotunda, and hurled rotten eggs at the Emperor. Red Guardsmen tried to switch on the protective shield, but then discovered that someone had been bribed in advance and brought down the field generator! Palpatine had to pull out his lightsaber and beat back the eggs in flight, and the speaker Mas Amedda crouched down and covered with his umbrella. Opposition members continued bombing, hoping that at least one egg cracks up on wrinkly balding Sith's head. Or at worst on Amedda's! To grab him by the horns and sock his forehead! Since Yoda told Organa about a fight in the Senate, parliamentary massacres didn't leave the oppositioner's fantasy.

Odious Pestage's budget was not accepted.

"Tell me, Mas, how did you know that you need to stock up on the umbrella?" Sidious asked with the bad squint.

Amedda's lethorn pulled a handkerchief and began wiping the massive pectoral, which was still stained with a rotten egg.

"Why, master," he answered calmly, "since the rain was forecast!"

"And why you didn't leave it in the locker room?"

"But somebody could steal..."

X X X

Grim determination on his face, the Emperor came home. Roganda knelt and took off Emperor's boots. Lackey began to help him to undress, removed the dark-blue robes, Roganda handed him the dressing gown.

"I received a report from Isard, that she sent her best employee to neutralize Pestage. Without unnecessary publicity."

"I don't dare to draw parallels", Roganda interrupted, "but let me confess – I involuntarily recalled how the Chiss removed Thrawn from office for his superfluous initiative."

"As... customer of murder of the goose that lays the golden eggs", Emperor's steely gray eyes turned into slits.

"Ah, your majesty!" Deadly pale beneath the makeup, Roganda with an indescribable grace slid on her knees, looking up asquit – to Palpatine opened a good overview of the bending of the white neck, covered by a necklace, and curled tress, with deliberate casualness falling out of the hair, crowning her submissively bowed head. "If I immediately refused, the Vizier wouldn't let me live, as a witness. I decided to pretend I was going to cooperate, to take a deposit and to do nothing, and to tell you on the first occasion."

Palpatine paced along the room. Roganda stood motionless on her knees, head down, clenchig her gentle, child-like hands on her chest - the embodiment of humility and of timid, anxious reproach: what barbarian's hand rises to destroy such beauty? This small, fragile creature? Is she guilty of something? She is adrift, as the wind-picked petal. Her life is dominated by her master - he could crush her with his boot, if he pleases, but in doing so depriving himself of the only pleasure.

"But you were silent. And failed the task, losing the supervised."

"Sire, I defended the Vizier from the assassin with all my force. She smashed through - is it really called "quietly"?"

Roganda still couldn't resist to pinprick her rival and her best agent. Rival? Well, she's not your peer. Ysanne isn't the inhabitant of bedrooms and boudoirs, she can be unleashed onto the arena.

"According to Ysanne's report, without publicity, since Mara was supposed to force you to give her way." The overlord was tired of the conversation. He motioned Roganda to stand up and commanded in bored voice, "Bring the poison here."

Roganda ran to her room and, staying in front of Palpatine, shook three tablets from the vial. Three white spots on childlike palm near her mouth, huge desperate eyes: I can swallow the poison, if it is your will, but won't you feel sorry yourself?

Invisible testicle hit Roganda's hand, white tablets flew apart across the floor. DB-3765 immediately rushed to clean up.

"You've forgiven me, my master?" Roganda grabbed Sith's hand and kissed the red glowing ring. Her servility palled on Palpatine - again bowing, how much can she cowtow, entitle, he but has a name. Probably, the girl just cannot tutoyer a man who is 60 years older than her.

"Roganda, go to your room."

The concubine evaporated. Today he no longer wanted to see her, and they dined separately. Then he locked himself in a darkened room, where he spent time in meditation and studied Force techniques - for the hours nobody dared to disturb him. He mulled over how to deal with the revolting senators.

X X X

Knowing from his mother about the fight with Mara and waiting for the HRD which vanished in an unknown direction, Irek began searching in the Force for Roganda's replica droid, determined to locate it and read its memory. Search in the Force brought him to Lusankya.

Irek wanted to study her for a while. Just as well the prince could study her twin, the Executor, but the flagship was away from Sessvenna sector.

"How are they going to get it up? Again, to dig it out and then dig in? What's about skyscrapers already built over it? Scratch raw 19 km of the surface is a terrible mismanagement!" At every opportunity, the prince pestered the emperor. Palpatine just waved him aside. And Irek couldn't grasp why the ship was buried under the ground when they could easily and without worries build a nontransportable bin. All witnesses of Lusankya's burial were subjected to Palpatine's monstrous mind trick, ordering them to forget what they saw.

Of course, you would walk from the palace to Lusankya for a while, so that Irek would need official permission to visit the Intelligence bunker, and also a shuttle and escort. He would, lest he practiced Mechu-deru. When he connected to HRD, he read out her memory - and found out who is trying to make him an orphan.

Astromech R2N7 cheerfully trundled along the foyer of the 43rd floor of the palace, and its passenger was scanning all the electronics he encountered in search of the entrance to the tunnel leading to Lusankya. He decided to run the hyperdrive and to direct the leap into the nucleus of the star Coruscant Prime. Prince feared that subsidence would happen - the buildings crack, and even collapse. What if a layer of ground with buildings above the huge cavity simply falls in the void, and there will be a crater? But, in fact, it wasn't he who gave the go-ahead for real estate development on the territory above Lusankya! Let the mayor have a headache. And papa, because the entire burial project was agreed with him. He felt sorry for the staff of bunker ship, but Irek wasn't that adept at the impact on the mind to make these thousands of people - all but one! - to leave their jobs and immediately evacuate from Lusankya. I'm like Darth Vader and his minion, Galen Marek - Irek thought grimly, remembering the sabotage at the shipyard of Raxus Prime. However, the boy has already become like Vader, when his parents decided to make him a lab rat. Bitterness burned inside of his chest. He could almost feel the bile of disgust for Vader's methods which he has chosen. Really is there only one way out?

"Hey, R2!" Turning around, a tall bearded dignitary barked, accompanied by two droid guards. "I told you to wait - where? Why you had come with?"

"Voice interpretation module short out?" the right droid assumed.

The dignitary yelled,

"Come along, now!"

Narrow slit in the shell Irek looked through gave a magnificent overview of embroidered robes. The boy felt him up in the Force - in front of him was an avid member of the opposition, the viceroy of Alderaan. And he confused R2N7 with his own astromech - painted in the same white and blue palette R2D2.

Irek turned the droid and rode beyond Organa. What has he, actually, forgotten on 43th floor? Reduced copy of the Republican Senate conference room, that was located in a huge skyscraper of Imperial Palace, along with other government agencies, was in a completely different facet of the three-kilometer pyramid; Bail's office - also not close.

A woman got in touch with Bail, claiming to be Force sensitive, a gunslinger, able to drive a spaceship, and to have lightsaber and martial arts skills. It was the agent Jade, and she came to the rendezvous in a wig and a "second skin" mask with bulges, changing the shape of the nose, eye, lip contour. Bail and Mara met not in his office, but hunkered in some closet. Droid bodyguards, equipped with portable generators, activated two silencing fields, Mara took off the wig, pulled off the mask, allowed them to scan her for weapons, and the fiery oppositioner, furtively looking around, hissed:

"What's the blazing hurry, agent Jade?"

He peered from behind his droid, apparently fearing that Mara will hurl and break his neck.

"You can trust me, Senator Organa", gloomily said Mara. "I'm currently looking for a new job."

"May I know the reason why you have decided to leave the old?"

"Order of the immediate superiors went against the will of the higher authorities", the agent told, determined not to dwell on the mills of the hard-fisted pseudo-justice, grinding the dependents for the execution of the order, and even more about the specifics. "I fell back on the Force, and the Force prompted that I can be helpful to you."

There was a conditional knock and the door sunk into the wall - Mothma joined the candidate and the prospective employer, also accompanied by a pair of droids. Bail introduced Mara to her, and rebel leaders peppered her with questions, checking her trustworthiness. Having concluded that a Force-user in the ranks of the movement they lead will be even very useful – if only this very Force-user wasn't a double agent! - respected senators embarked on a totally ridiculous rhetoric about the bloody regime, built on the bones, and their sacred duty to help the peoples of the galaxy to rise from their knees and from the subjects again become citizens of a democratic legal state. Bail Organa recited verses,

"Autocratic villain! You, your throne I hate. Thy doom, the death of children with cruel joy I see..."

Preliminary indoctrination of a rookie came to an end. Organa and Mothma promised to send her to Danuta.

"You'll connect with our do-all. He'll explain the details of the operation", Mothma said softly, twisting a corner of her mouth.

"R2, show Kyle's frequency to Mara", Bail told. "Look and memorize."

Irek was thrown into a fever. He wished he would take his R2 away from the senator, in whose memory is listed the number by which the senior rebel contacts his agent! He immediately ordered the remains of artificial intelligence, that has been left inside the disemboweled droid, to display the frequency of... Palpatine's comm (this was the first number that came to prince's mind). Mara memorized, and the image faded.

Curled up inside a droid, lungs compressed, thought of a lavatory persistent, Irek wondered at deafness of agent Jade, who didn't detect his presence in the Force. He moved the droid behind the Alderaanian, who said goodbye to the accomplices and headed to the nearest landing platform, to his ship, and there – what a bad luck! - R2D2 sat and waited for the owner, as he'd commanded. (Bail liberated Artoo and Threepio along with Leia.)

"And what's then with me?" the senator wondered. "Hey, droid, where you!.. Stop! Wait, I said... Catch it!"

Palace guardsmen impassively watched the senator's droids, galloping down the hall after the skedaddle R2. Bureaucrats scurrying along the corridor with folders, reports, not even deigned to look awry at the droid. Upon reaching the first turbolift on his way, Irek tapped and stopped the cab, and ordered to stop the descent and return to the 43rd floor. When the elevator has come, Organa's droids overtook the astromech - but instead of grabbing the R2, towing it back to the platform and plunging into the senator's car, they froze - both short-circuited.

Bail waited for his droids for a long while.

X X X

Mara Jade didn't go home. She applied to the electronic reference bureau, looked through the apartment letting ads and took up quarters at the middle levels, in the area for non-humanoids, with an old Twi'lek.

Connected the frequency she'd got from Organa's droid - what a shock was waiting for her: that frequency was used by Palpatine, when he called Roganda and Irek.

"Child, you know that distance is not an obstacle for the Force", Emperor answered in the bored voice. Mara clenched her teeth. Step right, step left - the Emperor would find her in the Force and stop her heart.

Palpatine told her to ask Organa for the correct number - and to come to the rendezvous with the agent. He kept in touch with Mara's mind and helped her to calm Organa's suspicions, affecting him with the Force through her.

The rendezvous with the agent took place, but the conversation didn't last long - a detachment arrived after Mara. The best rebel agent, mercenary Katarn, was overpowered and dragged into a dark torture chamber of Lusankya, where he under torture gave out the details of the planned operation "Skyhook" – under the diversionary fire of rebel ships he had to get into Trid research facility on Danuta and steal the blueprints of Death Star. Katarn yielded threffs, passwords, and coordinates of agents involved in the operation. Oh, how many new residents appeared in the dungeons of Lusankya!

X X X

The new Vizier Ars Dangor - old, shrill-gorged, hard-nosed Nabooian – was pompously heading into his new office, leading there a bunch of journalists, deputies, secretaries and guards.

Opened the door, and there...

Bare walls. Pestage has carried out everything. Tables, chairs, lamps, equipment, blinds, pictures, even panels were torn off the walls. The floor was stripped of parquet. And just over the place where Vizier's table once stood, a portrait of crowned Palpatine hung forlornly.

Dangor pursed his lips and deep wrinkles on his ashen face came into motion as waving folds of the mantle. Abomination of desolation in Vizier's room was a mirror reflection of the state treasury. Responsibility for the hole in the budget was officially assigned to thiefy ex-Vizier, and Dangor now had to urgently establish a new budget.

X X X

After the rotten eggs bombardment, His Majesty the Emperor dissolved the Senate and in the near - as well as in the distant - future, did not intend to summon it again. A criminal case was immediately started against depraved of their senatorial immunity throwers Iblis, Mothma and Organa, as provided in clause "Hooliganism" - and after their arrest it was planned to bring against the trinity charges of high treason, organizing and funding of the armed rebellion, supported by the testimony of overfished participants in the "Skyhook" operation - but all three had incognito left Coruscant. The golden trio was put on the intergalactic wanted list. Employees of crossing point in the spaceport, who had seen a man resembling Iblis, went on trial on article "Bribe-taking in the workplace."


	3. Blue Frost

**Chapter 3 - Blue Frost**

"Tell me something tender in Cheunh... How beautiful. Do you long for the last time you were at home?"

Irek's mom brushed her clawed hand along Thrawn's chest and abdomen, throwing her legs over his hip and leaning on her elbow. Blue hand contrastingly laid on Roganda's white hip.

"Since I was introduced to the sovereign, I haven't left the property of my present employer. Again to contact my compatriots? Only in case of expansion of the Empire, but the Emperor possesses enough territory, and he doesn't intend to violate the sovereignty of Chiss Ascendancy."

She kissed Thrawn in the blue nose.

"Do you have no ties with the Chiss?"

"Why are you so interested?"

"Do you have no one left at home? And property? You don't want to talk about it?"

"Because it is an unequal exchange. I don't know anything about you."

"You know all you need. I don't work, we can't date in my place lest the old man knows. Why do you need to know my protector's position? Do you want to scoop me up from him?" In Roganda's sweet, playful voice entreaty erupted, "Then scoop me up..."

She lowered her head, stroking his chest with her cheek, and stopped, squeezing a blue nipple in her lips. Raising her eyes, she met an inscrutable gaze of scarlet, pupilless Thrawn's eyes. No way, she understood. He doesn't want a wife - he is always away on assignments, and it's not a woman who savors his life (who, incidentally, must be tolerated, supported, what Thrawn clearly is not ready to do – he is a glutton to all found, cherished and paid by another man, and he will only sometimes see and enjoy her in her best, go-to-meeting look, like one of the whimsical paintings of his artsy collection) - but the one with whom he doesn't part any night or day. He sleeps with the Chiss in the same bed, goes on Grand Admiral's shoulders topped with epaulets, sheds on his snow-white tunic, sits on his owner's knees and eats from his dish. For hours Thrawn can talk about ysalamiri's food, ysalamiri's feces, vaccination and antihelminthics for ysalamiri, that ysalamiri understands everything, just can't talk... And because of this extremely useful little protector – neither any aspiring Jedi, nor even his Majesty the Emperor isn't able to mind trick Grand Admiral.

Ysalamiri curled up right on the pillow. Refusing to go to the bathroom with his blue master, Roganda hitched a tiny sensor, in size and shape of a crystal, on his collar embroidered with gems.

X X X

Irek realized that he overreacted: he doesn't have enough knowledge and skills to send Lusankya in hyperspace. He couldn't even call the HRD back home: she laid broken and discharged, and Irek wasn't able to recharge the HRD and then to summon her to the palace, opening all gateways of bunker ship on her way. Retelling Jade's conversation with the rebel leaders to Palpatine, he explained that he caught Bail's eye, trying to summon the HRD from Lusankya, and added,

"Make Isard give the HRD back to mom, she costs nine million!"

Ysanne sent back the fixed droid, stating in the explanatory letter that she interrogated the agent Ismaren about her part in the regicidal cabal with Pestage. Droid's memory hadn't been erased so it confirmed Isard's explanation. In her office, under masses of ground and skyscraper spikes, motley-eyed Madame Director kicked herself: the Emperor is strongly attached to this woman, if he still keeps her... Luck, Isard thought, that she wasn't punished for being too zealous. The record of sovereign's retreat to another world, which she had got, was three months old. Another test!

X X X

Roganda brought her copy to the dojo: the droid was programmed with six basic forms of lightsaber combat.

"Irek, disable her mind, take control of all her movements", Roganda shouted.

Irek so intensely moved the droid that he swerved on place and hit empty air with his arm, not noticing anything around him. Prince imagined that in the future an army of cyborgs at his command will be created - like the one that fought in Arkanian revolution Magrody told him about, who at that time worked as research assistant in a local research institute. The army Irek will lead in a state of battle meditation - like the one that Palpatine practiced, but with the difference that his father induced people.

Irek rarely saw his father. He was constantly at work and in the remaining hours locked with the holocrons, studying the teachings of the dark side. But today he peered into the gym.

Palpatine wanted to enjoy the show - what could be nicer than two Rogandas, performing a dance with lightsabers? But the pace of the fight was not enough, opponents fought on equal terms - both not in full force, seeming to be set out to slowly, clearly demonstrate the basic techniques of Makashi and not to cripple themselves. Seeing that the dauphin was too carried away in control of HRD with no clue about his surroundings – he hasn't even noticed that the Sith sneaked up on! - Palpatine silently ordered him to lie on the floor and roll up to the fencers, at their feet. Irek was caught by surprise, didn't even think to resist, lost his control on HRD, lay down and rolled over. Roganda rebounded and, thrusting her hand, Force-kept the HRD from falling in a heap with Irek.

"His training is too one-sided", Palpatine squeaked.

"He cannot learn more, your Majesty, he's but a boy!"

Irek rose. Palpatine rarely dealt with him, but when he found time - then the prince slowly came to himself from the aftertaste of horrible intensity of the flows of dark Force that had passed through his body.

X X X

Memory of the camera Roganda had trailed to ysalamiri's collar embroidered with rhinestones, was enough for five days of continuous recording. A configuration of the device prevented it from exposure.

Upon returning from the meeting - when she found a moment and took off the camera - Roganda arrived in the II department, situated in the same governmental skyscraper, which served as a residence of Emperor Palpatine, and a host of employees, and offices of numerous agencies, agent Ismaren sat at a monitor, headphones on, her nose in the display.

She watched the breathtaking record of ysalamiri's life. The little one got away from his owner in only one case: if he was summoned to the Emperor (as a Force user, the sovereign, of course, couldn't stand a beast, overwhelming the Force, in his presence), and recently he hadn't been on an audience with Palpatine. Thrawn carried the ysalamiri everywhere, everywhere. Including - in his office in the building of the Admiralty.

Roganda studied employees of Admiralty, who spoke with Thrawn on duty. Meetings, reports, records – working routine. Finally, Thrawn was handed over a multi-protected datapad stamped "Top Secret" that contained, as she was able to understand, the plan of operations to neutralize the rebel assault detachment.

Ysalamiri entwined around the neck of the owner, tail dangling, camera on the collar, giving an overview on Thrawn's eye level. The original "Dawn on Bakura", hanging on the wall in the office, pulled off to the side. Security door showed up from behind it. Inserting a hot key combination, Thrawn remotely opened the doubled-up door and hid the documents in the strongbox. Roganda repeatedly scrolled the record, memorizing the hot key sequence. And then it turned out in the same way, which code opens the door into the office.

She came to the Admiralty in the early morning, showing a fake employee badge that she'd got from II experts – she had to make it before Thrawn comes to work.

She hadn't. She didn't feel the approach of Grand Admiral, concealed by ysalamiri. Thrawn discovered Roganda, concentrated on disemboweling the strongbox. Just at that moment when the door slid open and Grand Admiral crossed the threshold, a datapad had disappeared in the folds of her skirt, and a smart device in her hands was generating passwords to another datapad, advance copy of which was in Cheunh.

Yesterday Thrawn learned by hearsay, who was the exalted elderly lover of his mysterious flame. It turned out - Palpatine. Thrawn imagined the last date with Roganda – he couldn't but treat himself in the end - and: "I don't understand what he does with you, baby", the doughty warrior will say, "he's but OLD. An old trout". - "I just want to leave him," long eyelashes will tremble innocently. - "Hey there, my dear, we have to stop dating." No, it won't do to let her know that he'd found out. Stroking ysalamiri's velvety fur, he decided just not to meet her. To stop calling her. Without any final explanations.

And now she didn't seem so exquisitely beautiful as before, when he didn't know the truth. Roganda seemed dirty, all in a muck of the disgusting dodderer, whom she nonsqueamishly licks, dances striptease for him, looks up at him with the same languid, droopy eyes, arching under the touch of his wrinkled hands. Thrawn looked at her like she was spat upon.

"Datapad, madam", he stretched out his hand, and his other hand reached for the button to call the security.

Biting her lip, Roganda snatched tiny ladies' blaster from the folds of the skirt – a soft pop, output of the muffler - little friend's corpse collapsed from Thrawn's shoulder and plopped on the floor. Grand Admiral also grabbed his blaster, but his hand suddenly felt numb. Roganda whispered almost inaudibly,

"You will sleep now. For three hours. When you wake up, you'll forget me. I haven't been. Sleep, Thrawn."

Blue eyelids grew heavy and fell, closing Chiss' red eyes. Thrawn tumbled down to the floor and began to snore. Making a pass, Roganda raised the carotic body up in the air and put him on the couch. What a mess! This is a failure... She found a bottle of brandy in a locker and, not touching, moving objects only with the Force, opened it and poured the contents into Thrawn's mouth. Occluded the strongbox and quietly closed the door to his office. She averted secretary's eyes - the Force projection indicated that it was Thrawn who left the room.

Oh, what a pity. Roganda twice tried to find a younger life partner. Tried to get adopted to other hands, and thus her efforts were directed at single dignitaries. The first was advisor Quest, also a former student of the Temple, the second - Grand Admiral Thrawn. But they made as little sense as ganders: they were willing to get laid with her, but no one agreed to take her to bosom, and she still came back to the oldster - at least, the only one who opened his wallet for her. An alderaanian proverb came to Roganda's mind: the generosity of priests and kings has a specific feature that it's not worth a dime for them personally.

Waking up with a blaster in hand, an empty bottle of cognac at his head and ysalamiri corpse on the floor, Thrawn couldn't understand how his hand went up to shoot his little friend, why he doesn't remember anything, and how it actually happened that he has glugged a whole bottle alone in the morning on the workplace, but how ill-mannered, straight from the bottle.

X X X

Much as Palpatine would frown, demanding to prevent the information leak about the last Senate session, records of his speech about the mysterious conquistadors still appeared in the media as well as records of rotten eggs flying in the Senate. Unfortunate Holonet ed, that had published this disgrace of Palpatine, was immediately abolished. "No, far from shame", Amedda said, "on the contrary: the octogenarian so deftly wields a lightsaber!.." The former speaker, who lost his chair in the Imperial Ruling Council, now was sent out of harness, to live out his days on his home planet of Champala.

To reassure the public, Kinman Doriana gave a press conference on the threat of Vong expansion - these revelations about the warlike neighbors, whose existence until Palpatine's recent speech had been known only to the chosen ones, were drowned in a stream of scandals. Kinman - old, shrill-gorged, hard-nosed Nabooian! – kept suggesting all possible doubters to inquire of Grand Admiral Thrawn, but the Chiss was out of reach. More precisely, he could theoretically be connected with, but Thrawn and his fleet had been sent away to lacerate rebels.

Oh, brave rebels, fighters for this and that! Funding from Alderaan, Chandrila and Corellia wasn't enough, and so-called rebels were engaged in piracy. Steal and kill in the name of freedom and equality! It's but the same imperial ships!

But, having acquired information on the construction of the battle station, the Alliance to Restore the Republic turned from petty theft and robbery to large-scale space battles.

Danuta avoided a rebel attack, but they still had in stock a plan to attack Toprava and win away the missing set of documents from the Imperial research facility, and, in turn, to supplement it with blueprints transported by a convoy from Moff Tarkin's headquarters to the Information Centre in the capital. The purpose of sending the convoy was involuntarily given out by Lord Tion, governor of Ralltiir and Leia's fiancé-to-be, who was questioned in detail at a dinner in the house of the prospective father-in-law, and, realizing that the future relatives are strangely curious, was assassinated. But a rebel agent, Ta'al Pirc by name, was overbought. It was he who told that the rebels were preparing a raid, and a flotilla commanded by Thrawn was urgently dispatched at the orbit above Toprava, tasked not to let the rebel vessels approach the convoy and land on the planet, and prevent any damage that may be caused to cities on surface by debris from blown ships. He delicately shot away the rebel ships, as soon as they emerged from hyperspace - and with the astonishment, last in their lives, found that they are already being awaited there.

It was originally planned to capture the communication center of the research facility and from there to transfer the holographic drafts to Tantive IV, hanging on the orbit, which was supposed to enter the secured Toprava system, using diplomatic immunity. But, getting no message from his men, Organa didn't send the Tantive IV.

Bail Organa now lived not in the royal residence, but purchased an estate under an assumed name. Queen of Alderaan Breha, clasping her hands and moaning, tried to convince she had no clue that her husband was the head and the sponsor of the rebels. What barbarism - a Commission to Investigate the Treason of Alderaan, formed through the most august will of Palpatine, was authorized to call in question even regional governors, kings by grace of the Force! Loyal vassals of the suzerain of Coruscant!

Based on the studying of documents from the strongbox, II analysts have concluded that the Grand Admiral Thrawn wasn't involved in any abuse of power and corruption schemes, in which he has been accused in branchy denunciation. Isard was reprimanded - only verified information should get on Emperor's table, rather than unproven slanders. In her ascetic room in the belly of Coruscant, making up her denunciation, director of the II was chain-smoking until the room was clouded to loss of visibility. She hoped to eliminate - or at least shake the position – of her potential rival in the coming struggle for power: how long has left for 83-year old Emperor? She was not going to give up. The fabricated accusation has not worked – we'll write more.

X X X

The entire beau monde gathered at Xizor's birthday party. The first day they hung out in the "Falleen's Hand." On the second day the hero of the anniversary offered his dear guests to go to the "Egoist" restaurant, that he co-owned. Cocktail reception for guests was served in the morning and included a branded falumpaset cutlets, which the prince personally killed on the prowl on Naboo, and Ithorian wine was worth four thousand imperial credits per bottle. A show ballet was writhing on the stage. Xizor received mainly pictures and statues, of no value either from an aesthetic point of view, either as an investment - that, as we know, rarely coincides. His Majesty the Emperor didn't present anything. But he came, honored the assembly with the most august presence. Brought his mistress. They looked together awkwardly - an old man and a girl, decrepit, obsolete and youthful, dazzling. Roganda wore a light purple dress with a beveled hem and carefully stacked pleats, pinned on one shoulder. High blue gloves and the same blue eyeliner didn't quite blend with the color of dress, and some well-born ladies commented in whisper, that if you don't have taste yourself, then the unbeatable lowlife parsimony indeed baffles to turn to a couturier.

Thrawn received congratulations from all sides. Roganda also commented on his victory over the insurgents - a woman opened her mouth, and then the incident in Admiralty recurred in Thrawn's memory. Roganda's mind trick lasted so briefly.

"She is unspeakably vulgar", Isard half-turned, today dressed up like Snow Queen. "Mara, hold my drink for a minute. Hung over with every trinket she has."

"About thirty thousand. Well... Hooked up such a wallet..."

"I don't know what he talks with her about."

The Emperor sat with longing on his wrinkled brow, waving the superseviceable birthday boy away, and left before anyone else, referring to an urgent call from someone of his subordinates and business that required his immediate presence. Roganda stayed at the party.

Soon, the mafioso himself captured her attention.

"Madam, you are as beautiful as clever", the prince viperously murmured. "I have a suggestion to make to run a real business. Imagine: you, with your unfulfilled potential, are the president of a major company, for example - "Imperial Fuel and Energy". Imagine for a moment: you are the president of this company, and a man of mine - or even myself - is vice-president. All design, all the pilot projects, and, lastly, financial resources - all of this I give you, only your energy is required from you. Your presence can inspire feats, bear new ideas, your beauty outshines the sun, and the proximity to such person as the Emperor makes our capabilities unlimited."

What does he reckon upon? She is not an economist, what arguments she could adduce? A pinprick at the self-esteem - feel yourself an ignorant middlebrow with kitchen-bedroom outlook! - injected fear into her mind: her carelessness, an attempt to get involved in the machinations of the powerful, will cause the wrath of both His Majesty the Emperor and influential mafioso.

"But nothing depends on me", Roganda told him. "I can't do anything..."

"Why did you take such a position? You can actually claim everything. The whole Empire is at your feet, you! One word from you - and... of course, your modesty does credit to you, but doesn't give any dividends, admit it. I won't be surprised if your net worth will be zero. Modesty adorns a person, but doesn't feed them."

And then Xizor turned from the flow of adulation to specific proposals. Roganda was just to come to Palpatine and say: "Darling, I'm tired of sitting around. I want some activity, life, I have enough strength to run some business. While you work double tides for the Empire, I'd also like to make myself useful. Could you intrust me some responsible, profitable business?"

And shoved her an IFE file. The company Xizor intended to establish was to become a monopoly in the energy market.

"But resources have been long distributed to developers", Roganda bleated.

"And this is my business, how to resolve the problem with the unhappy change of owner", Xizor said sugary. "On hand will be a decree to impound into the property of the Crown. Not a raider attack, but a Decree of the Emperor!

"Violation of the right to private property", Roganda protested. "It's unconstitutional! For this the Emperor may be impeached, put on trial..."

"I'll take care of it", repeated Xizor. "To all the disgruntled and dissenting ones will be employed some methods", Falleen's voice became softer than wool, "of persuasion".

The project sounded promising from Xizor, but Roganda simply didn't believe that Lord Sidious might set out to such a transfer of ownership at her suggestion. Not so influential she is as Xizor thinks. He, like everyone else, believes as if Palpatine keeps her for himself, not knowing that she still acts as an agent for special assignments - and what are these special orders.

Running out on the landing platform, accompanied by indifferent attitudes of Xizor's varletry, Roganda bit her knuckles, staring into the bottomless depths whealed by air speeder exhausts, flying at breakneck speed. She is a nonentity, hanger-on, and Xizor imagines, if she has access to the body, then she automatically acquires the power on Palpatine's mind? She noticed that she has gnawed through the glove, pulled off the piece of blue cloth, and threw the glove down. It spun in carefully regulated air flows, carrying each ship on a pre-programmed route.

X X X

Fireplace in the apartment at the very attic of Coruscant skyscraper seemed to be an inappropriate archaism. Wood was rarely burned in the grate, and Irek, attracted by a characteristic odor and crackling of burning logs, made of wood substitutes, peered into the room and found his dad, gloomily burning some photos. Then, in the charred remains of a pile of ash and logs, Irek dug up a scorched piece of paper on which he could still see the outlines of his mother and a bleak blue guy. Irek was seriously scared and angry at his mother: how could she be so reckless, and if father is offended and throws them to the streets? But the days passed, father didn't make scenes - Irek carefully listened. And then dad took them to the Galactic Opera. The most august family was sitting in the loge and his father in the lush red gown studied the dropped curtain, by his side mother was moping about, countless gems sparkling and shimmering. A little further red caps of Guardsmen loomed. His elbows on the edge of the box, and leaning his cheeks on his fists, the bastard prince looked to the pit, in the seething living mass - and noticed a blue, red-eyed face among the white people. His head thrown back, Prince figured the trajectory of the fall of a huge chandelier and came to the conclusion that Thrawn will be precisely crushed.

"Dad, can I pick off the chandelier with the Force?" rang Irek's shrill sweet voice.

"You can, baby. But if a splinter plucks out your eye, I'll put you a new, artificial one, and you will be a cyborg like Moff Trachta. But if it plucks out mine, then I'll pluck you both and won't insert any".

Irek let up. He glanced at Roganda – she didn't chip in the conversation of men. High updo, a black corset, necklaces – everything shone, but her eyes dull. The light faded, the curtain rose. Irek folded his hands on the edge of the box, head on his hands, ready to listen to another incredibly boring, gibberish three-hour singing. "Will I in my old age also be into classics?"

X X X

Rebels hatched a plan to sabotage the Death Star, when Palpatine arrives there to inspect the station. The crowned head rarely left the capital, and even he visited, for example, his Naboo retreat, Byss or Korriban, then incognito. The Emperor was not inclined to publicize his visit pompously, with saluting crowds and banners hanging throughout the polished city. But the rebels had a competent informant - Irek's tutor, bribed professor Magrody, who informed that his Majesty intends to visit the brand new, just from the stocks, Death Star - not alone, but with his son, who will study it.

But after the tremendous defeat of the Skyhook operation Palpatine decided not to inspect the Death Star personally, and his son went to the Maw to study. Irek wasn't thrilled - he wanted firsthand to see the majestic metal constructions of the Star, inside and out, and not to contemplate holograms at a secret research facility, training on the simulator. However, on Death Star he would hardly have been entrusted the control of equipment. Likewise, he'd be seated for the simulators. Irek stopped arguing, only having learned that a Death Star prototype revolves in orbit around the Maw Installation. And still it was an occasion to wave goodbye to most tutors: historian, philologist, geographer, biologist and trainer (Roganda hired only male tutors).

Maw Installation was one of the safest places you can imagine. There was only one secret route leading to the "gravitational island" in a cluster of black holes, where lurked a grand design of the fifteen disemboweled asteroids, connected by bridges, resembling a molecule on the map, being protected by four ISD and an armada of many smaller ships. In one asteroid Imperial garrison was stationed, in the other - a scientific community, in the third - production capacity, in the fourth - the power generator...

X X X

In the estate, purchased under an assumed name, Leia tumbled all night. Magrody won't be able to contact her from the Maw - because of the super secrecy of the object only Admiral Daala had the right to use the communication channel - and thus outgoing messages from the Maw weren't welcome. "Eyes and ears" of the rebels flew to the Maw - but Magrody will not have access to the documents. His business is to nurse the crown prince.

Hence, we should recruit someone from the staff members who has this very access. We must frame up this humanoid to make a large slip, and when the engineer would be in jail - then Magrody passes on our offer to bail them – Leia reflected. Going to freedom, the employee will give us a copy of documents of interest.

However, we should frame up an offense that has nothing to do with their professional activities, so that the engineer is not suspended from work. Bribing someone from leading engineers of the Maw didn't make sense: the complex was isolated, secret, all employees were fully provided with everything necessary, there was simply nowhere to go to spend money, and no one would have dared to retire from the Maw.

And then a Cunning Plan was born in Leia's brain - all in the spirit of an overripe, wistful teenager currently without a boyfriend. Magrody should spray Falleen pheromones in the room where the little prince studies under the strict guidance of any of the leading developers of the notorious Star. Desirably, cover Prince's clothes with pheromones, as well as his mentor's. In the most piquant moment Professor was instructed to burst into the room and to bring plenty of people with. And when an engineer will be brought to trial for molestation - to offer a ransom.

In the morning, not even having breakfast, she hastened to call on Coruscant, and proudly presented her plan to Magrody. Puzzled Professor scratched his exuberant white curls, straightened the horn-rimmed glasses:

"Your Highness, the pedophile won't be brought to court. The emperor will immediately strangle him with the Force. For that he made a girl from his son."

"Is Palpatine a homophobe?"

"He's a man of older generation", Magrody spread his four-fingered hands. "Old school."

"I don't need to frame up the untimely death of one of your employees, I want to recruit him! Who is... the chief engineer of the project?" Leia made a huge mental effort.

"Lemelisk. By the way, a former student of mine."

"So we'll enroll Lemelisk. He should definitely have all that we need."

Magrody rolled his whitish pupilless eyes.

"I have an hour before departure. Even if I have time to get the drug, they'll surely pat me down."

"Professor! Alderaanian taxpayers provide you a fee for your efforts", Leia sighed. In fact, is it her concern, how Magrody scares up and smuggles the drug?

Professor disconnected and rushed to ring round pharmacies to find the required concentrate.


	4. Wunderkind

**Chapter 4 - Wunderkind**

Stern commander Daala, meeting the distinguished guest, to her profound amazement, saw an eight-year old boy. She thought that the son of the Emperor must be at least thirty years old. The bastard prince came with a few attendants: with the tutor Magrody, two droid bodyguards (and Irek personally pulled speech analyzers out of both IG, acting upon them exclusively with the Force), a lackey TB-242 and, of course, with the pilot.

Science luminaries were detached from work and gathered in a conference room, where everyone responsible at least for something spieled for the audience, consisting of a single listener, talking about what they were occupied with.

Proud of his brainchild, Bevel demonstrated holoprojections of Death Star equipment. Prince listened quite favorably, but the chief engineer, displaying the hologram of life support systems, radiated a flash of uncertainty into the Force. If it were not for Lemelisk's very inner nervousness, Irek wouldn't have noticed in the stream of information, in a variety of drawings, a single defect in design. Irek wasn't satisfied only with firing rate of the station. But fears the chief engineer projected into the Force revealed another vulnerability of the Star.

Prince frowned and poked his finger:

"A hole, a hole! You have a holey Death Star!" And Lemelisk turned so blue that resembled Dr. Xux' complexion.

Who are you in your eight years? First graduate from university, get a job in designing department, defend a thesis, patent your developments, but when you'll be entrusted with such a complex, top-secret government order to draft the battle station of a new type, then we'll see how you cope, young kicker...

"I assure you, my prince, the station has sufficiently powerful shields, and a major contingent of ships is detached in support. We've cleared through with Governor Tarkin, who - with his Majesty the Emperor..."

"Very quirky kid", muttered Tol Sivron. His lekku nervously twisted behind his back.

Irek attended drills, listening to Fredja's explanations; studied layouts of life-support systems of the Installation with Vermin; sat at a simulator recreating the controls of a fighter. When Irek acquainted with examples of transports that made up the Maw fleet, he was, among other things, showed a captured X-wing Daala brought from an excursion to the shipyard on orbit of Despayre. Death Star under construction was attacked by rebels - who were slaughtered to a man, and Daala, precisely at this moment circling the whopper of the station, was in the midst of gunfire. Irek yelled that he wanted a simulator imitating X-wing controls.

"I doubt that in my life I will ever pilot a TIE fighter", said the regal young ignoramus, "but to Force play with some rebel on an X-wing would be funny."

He was supplied with the simulator. He pointedly covered his eyes with palms and saw in the Force the flight path of his "controlled" fighter, simulated by a computer. In the evening, he opened the holocron and fell into the educational trance. He had now already three mentors, in addition to the usual Magrody, and Lemelisk himself adduced him to the blueprints of the Death Star. Irek transmitted the diagrams of equipment he memorized, bringing schematics to mind and recreating the processes taking place in hardware. His software, stimulant medications he received, his education - technical and in the ways of the Force - according to the method of accelerated development, previously tested by professor Magrody on OIFEC trainees, developed his memory and the capabilities of his brain to unprecedented proportions. Inmates of Omwati Intense Forced Education Camp died from overexertion. Irek remembered, transmitted and used many times more information. He memorized and instantly summoned visuals of incredible number of blueprints of various, complex equipment before his inner eye. Sitting down to the simulator stand, he almost perfectly - almost, because only a few times he had ever confused operations sequence - reproduced the actions of an operator of one or another unit, stocking the Death Star. The goal was to take complete control of the whole organism of huge station, let alone control all the processes in the Death Star's automatics. And Lemelisk, with a mix of awe, disgust and horror, realized that after studying the Death Star the child can do all this complex action. And with no less awe and disgust, apprehensively, he looked at Professor Magrody who invented subelectronic impulse converter that conduced remote connection to the automatics and was implanted into Irek's brain.

Bevel told that the available prototype was fitted with an operating superlaser and reactor, subluminal engines in operation, the most important compartments for living crew are fully equipped, ready to be occupied. Functioning climate control and fuel availability on the model were included in the priority of maintaining serviceability on proof-of-concept model.

Examining Irek, the engineer had intended to take the captured X-wing - Prince diligently trained on the simulator to control it - and take a trip to the Death Star prototype, which, like a frozen grid of parallels and meridians, removed from a globe, revolved around fifteen asteroids, anchored with reinforcement.

But Lemelisk was urgently called away by Tarkin, and the project director rushed to the orbit of Despayre. He even did not have time to bid farewell to the disciple. And most likely would not have time.

To replace Bevel, Qwi Xux was immediately recruited. The engineer didn't come into raptures – it disrupted the work on Sun Crusher project, that she was, ignoring her duty, to give lessons to royal young ignoramus, capricious darling of fortune, who happened to be born to an emperor's mistress, and not to an Omwati farmer - and then she will prove to be guilty, that the project is idle! But as soon as Xux tried to express her grievances, director Sivron immediately interrupted her:

"You do already have a lot of free time. Instead of pounding on the synthesizer and squall roulades like a Gungan hit by train – get busy at last! Why are you bristling your feathers on me?" His lekku writhed like angry boa constrictors.

Engineer Xux hung her head - who dares to express resentment against the boss, especially in such a closed team, where it isn't so easy to quit, where, perhaps, she will have to work more than a dozen years?

Whatever chair this child's daddy held - let the highest in the entire galaxy - Qwi was not going to render him honors befitting his father.

"Model me the running of the primary weapon."

Yes, from the most spectacular. It's probably the most interesting for the boy.

"And where's the joystick and keyboard?" Not allowing open-mouthed Irek to say a word, Qwi casually repeated, fumbling and looking into all tiers of computer desk bristling with datachips and cards. Hid in advance to wriggle out - saying, I cannot draw a model?

"I imagine how this is proceeding and transmit to the computer. You'll see how the scheme is drawn", the prodigy explained in a dull voice.

Qwi stared at the sequence of systems diagnostics unfolding in front of her. Checking the reactor power. Beginning with the first, there is a consistent supply of energy to supporting beams. Diagnosis of the main power amplifier and a field sweep amplifier. Power supply to hypermatter generator. Aligning fields of auxiliary shafts. Running the view generator field. Focusing magnet at full power...

Irek ran processes almost simultaneously. But, instead of bowing before the might of the dark side of the Force, conjugated to the work of subelectronic converter and boundless cyborg's memory, harassed with stimulants, and acknowledging him as a living miracle of technology, a hundred times superior to all the unprecedented innovations of Maw team (as did Lemelisk), Qwi banged her fist on the table:

"Mr. Ismaren, what's the kitonak's speed?

"I'm recalling, Dr. Xux", Irek muttered. His concentration was broken by shouting mentor and the display cleared at once, the scheme has disappeared. Xux raised her eyebrows and spoke with the deepest skepticism:

"Imagine, your highness, that the station is attacked by rebel ships. Imagine that you have damaged boards, depressurization begins, imagine that saboteurs infiltrated the Star and shoot down your stormtroopers, making their way to the main command point where you sit, running everything alone, for the entire staff's already picked off. Or, if you prefer, died as a result of depressurization or stun gas, that is about to get to your control room through the ventilation. And you digress, you get offended and stopped the process when the tender tutor Xux in a relaxed form decided to slightly adjust your calculations rate. Imagine that in order to survive you have to immerse yourself in hibernation trance, put yourself actually in a coma, and in this state to manage the station, incapacitated up to 80%. Imagine that at the same time you have to stop saboteurs, intruding on the Star - to reach their minds, whatever their number is, and make them – choose, what? Shoot each other? Line up and go throwing themselves in the garbage ejector? Take the suits and go to patch damage – given that they are, of course, not trained, and you should direct their actions?"

Irek looked at the savant lady. Lemelisk was a soft tutor, all the time heaped praise on the ward, and child prodigy wasn't expecting that this fragile young woman with delicate features of gentle, even inspired face is able to imagine such a massacre.

"Harsh you are, it turns out."

"Force forbid, of course, that you'd have to shoot them or someone uses the Death Star as a weapon of mass destruction."

"Are you a pacifist?" Irek asked.

"The armed uprising and the assassination cannot be justified. They oppose to the Emperor, declare, and kill ordinary people. This is not an option. And the Death Star can be used to destroy ore bearing asteroids."

"It's a gang of pirates and smugglers, hired by a handful of people influential in their worlds, decided to seize power throughout the galaxy. We'll suppress the rebellion, restore the cities destroyed by insurgents. I will build a legal state."

"Legal is something we can only dream of", Xux replied, remembering how Moff Tarkin, for fun, slashed hometowns of failed Omwati students with laser from orbit. If his Majesty the Emperor knew about such senseless genocide! Suppose she tells the dauphin to let papa know, Qwi thought for a moment, but then discarded the petty thought: Moff Tarkin is in force, His Majesty entrusted him with the Death Star, what the odds for such a mugwump are seven-years-outdated complaints of an orphaned Omwati?

"Go for it again, Your Highness. Still, you are entrusted with a big and expensive toy."

Xux forced him to simulate all the upcoming actions twice and thrice, and finally opened a repair manual for the "big toy" and, pointing her finger, began asking verbatim quotes from any page. The exam Irek was passing now didn't allow a single slip: the prince was to pull the Death Star model out from the cluster of black holes and make a test shot at an asteroid (which was found for him in view that its destruction caused no appreciable gravitational shift to strategically more valuable assets), and then return the prototype to orbit of the Installation in the same narrow, winding route between black holes.

Movements and equipment activity of the Death Star prototype were monitored from the Installation. In fact, Irek could stay in the Installation - distance is not important for the Force - and run the Star from the same room where he had lessons. But an element of risk was added to the task, and considerable, tightening the nerves to the limit: Irek and the examiner should have found themselves on board of the station. Besides, X-wing instead of nav computer was equipped with an astromech droid - and Irek was deprived even of it. Use the Force, Irek...

"Yeah, baby, you learned to drive a unary vessel – not only I'll have stiff legs, but still I'll have to look through over you, when you screw up and I'll save us from a collision with a pillar, or alternatively, take us away from the attraction zone of the nearest black hole", his examiner thought on the way into the hangar.

Due to her race originating from birds, Qwi was very slender, with light bones; tachytrophism didn't let the Omwati gain weight. Irek also wasn't overfed. Together they squeezed down into a single seat in the cockpit of X-wing prepared for them. Irek battened down the hatches and, not touching the keyboard by hand, launched. Subluminal engine came to life. Half-turned to Qwi and noticing her intense gaze and clenched jaw, Irek stopped his bravado and outwardly picked up the control panel, sending a vessel forward. Weird - the hot body, pressed against him in close pilot's seat, caused unusual and outrageously inappropriate little thoughts in Irek: is her entire body as blue as her face? Airlock spat the fighter from the womb of disemboweled asteroid in an oily blackness. Clinging to the control levers, Irek clenched his teeth: it is his first time at a real steering wheel, and he flies to air the model of the Death Star, what the hell is he thinking about what is under the uniform on this humanoid! Perhaps because in the freezing cold and darkness such a heater clung to him, with a body temperature higher than the human?

And the thing is that Magrody, armed with a spray, has introduced a product in air purification systems on the fighter. He decided that closeness of passengers contributes as well as possible to the fruition of the plan, which he has labored to implement here.

Tossing the little thoughts, fired up by drug inhalation, into the far corner of consciousness and sealing them with a heavy door - but the shadows continued, stubbornly squirming, seeping through the cracks - Irek dodged from formless rock fragments, among other debris circling around the set of fifteen asteroids, and, gaining height, dove into the gap between the carrying beams of the Death Star skeleton. Hangars on the prototype were included, but mostly underequipped, so there was nowhere to park. Irek, of course, could climb aboard and take the main cabin, but his examination was provided for remote control of the huge station, and the small X-wing, not stopping its move, flied inside a bare frame, maintaining the optimal distance to metal joists, braided with cables, and conforming to the direction of Star's motion.

Irek contacted the nav computer, drawing the route for safe passage between the black holes. The spherical skeleton descended from orbit and, carrying the tiny fighter, heavily broke through seething curtain of gases with its huge half-empty body, carcass plopped into a chaotic interlacing of gravity corridors, some of which ended in stalemate, while others drove away right in the black hole.

Darkness was traced with the swirl of boiling gases, blossoming trails of torn flashes and twisting inside of shattered, ramified spirals, carrying away in the gaping jaws of black holes. Irek has redistributed power, enhancing anti-radiation shields on his ship. The windshield went dark, protecting passengers' eyes from the fireworks of spriggy prominences. In gravitational bursts the Death Star violently shook from side to side, and X-wing twitched in time to avoid collision with the powerful pipes and beams. Bouncing, shaking and making bows to black holes, embroidered with glow of gas vortices, canted prototype swept over into Kessel system, but still subluminal engine power was insufficient - Irek threw almost all the energy on the stabilizers. Life support system kicked the bucket on the prototype, the lighting was extinguished. Qwi tracked computer readings of the Death Star on a laptop.

"Your whole team has boiled alive", she commented.

Irek gritted his teeth – isn't it clear that it's the only way he keeps holding the Death Star in the gravitational corridor. It was impossible to crank the same trick in the fighter.

When the prototype has finally emerged from the nebula, leaving behind the fireworks of ragged gas tails, wagging from a black hole to a black hole, brains of both X-wing passengers were like dancing in the cranium. Passing populated Kessel with its satellite and bringing the honeycombed sphere to the asteroid scheduled for blast, Irek moved to the second phase of the exam – he began to direct the weapon. Superlaser energy was summoning, but the process stopped with a sob in the middle, many of the components of equipment short circuited, there have been several little explosions, the main gun choked. Irek barely managed to disperse the directed flow and prevent superlaser overloading. He cut off the power supply and switched systems. Qwi pressed to her monitor, studying the damage.

"It was cranky from the very beginning", Irek hotly anticipated her comments. "Your flaw."

"Run damage diagnostics", Xux said in dull voice, but her eyes blazed with anxiety.

Irek started checking serviceability, figuring out whether the engines were damaged, can the Star bring their craft to the complex of connected asteroids - impulse converter, which allowed Irek to affect the work of machinery with the Force, gave the prince an opportunity to pick them up remotely without the visual output device - directly in the brain. Sure enough - he will have to carry out repairs, looking in the Force for tools, moving them to the location of the damage and bringing them into action, to weld, solder, eliminate the circuit, change the burned wires, restore functionality. Not looking up from her laptop, Xux monitored the state of damage and at times prompted, when Irek was confused. When hasty repairs were completed, Irek Force-activated the test. Upon completion of re-diagnosis, he deciphered the results, and finally opened his eyes and met Qwi's approving nod.

"So, we won't bring it into effect again", it's about the superlaser. "I list the identified problems in the report, we draw up the instructions and send a maintenance crew on the board. Turn the model back."

Aftertaste of buffeting hasn't abated but Irek again moved the Death Star into the field of gravitational perturbations. After a frenzied cross country race without a saddle and harness Irek safely reached the gravity island in the heart of the cluster and added the model into a low orbit, though this time skeleton-like sphere was moving backwards.

Passing the X-wing to hangar service staff, the returnees got rid of helmets and flight suits, crossed through several floors and adapters, through the bridge to another asteroid, and Irek noticed how eagerly Qwi rolled her eyes, when the implacable supporters of letter of the instructions on their positions requested their ID cards before granting access to another level of the Installation, as if they saw them for the first time. Glancing at her watch, Qwi made sure that the expedition has exceeded the allotted time, and they were late for dinner.

"Aren't you tired, your Highness? Bones don't ache? Irradiated once again, the whole day hanging out in a fighter. I'm still dizzy. Let's go to the canteen, outbluster some food, and then run away to take a shower and have some sleep."

"But you just sat in the armchair and supervised, sometimes sneering. I worked!"

"Half the battle."

"Sorry", said Irek. "Overreacted. You really helped a lot."

"Saved myself."

"Your failed Death Star..." Irek snorted. It is good that they were in the fighter, not in the control room on board of the model, that had to sacrifice a life support system for the adequate operation of engines. He wanted to twit about the numerous problems that immediately appeared, when the design was put into it, and Qwi already prepared the objection that countless tests were conducted, hundredfold simulation of any troubles, all the research, but, say, force majeure... But the skirmish had been strangled before it began: the message from the Sivron's deputy came to engineer's comlink: the report should be submitted no later than in an hour!

"And we don't need to eat", Qwi commented, silently reading the message. "Bosses, brainless, without any education, not that technical, screw out of us to make untold efforts that exceed the resources of the organism."

Irek knew what words to snap. Smug academic lady, wallowing in awareness of her own exclusivity. Subverter of servility. Proves to me that I'm an uneducated jerk who was lucky to be born the son of a Big Boss? Is she using the image of the absent Sivron as a transformer, projecting on him her taunts addressed actually - to me? Mentally waving your thesis? I guess I am to you somewhat between a droid and a white monkey. And I'll teach you. Yet on the way Irek figured out how.

But then he dismissed the thought. Not the place or time. But now, walking down the Institute hallway next to Qwi, he didn't transmit the signals to set of equipment, wasn't focused on the instrument readings he had received.

In contrast to the face control, that returnees have undergone on their way, Irek's extemporary classroom was carelessly unlocked: a key chip stuck in the lock and could be extracted but only with the Force. Qwi sat down at the computer and began downloading data from her laptop. Irek perched nearby, intentionally touching her thigh.

"We will compose a report." Irek wouldn't move over, and, waiting a little longer, she turned away from the computer and reproached: "Can you not cuddle with me? It's enough room, far from the fighter."

"I want to."

"Why the?.."

"Because you're beautiful."

So what, Xux thought. There were lots of male specimen in the Installation, but not beauty attracts them, but, so to speak, sociability. While Qwi Xux was a reserved woman. Only eight year old boy noticed that she was beautiful. Sad to hear.

"Can I ask you to be my first woman?"

Xux sarcastically showed her little finger.

Irek flushed. And didn't come up with an argument better than:

"You are my tutor."

"I haven't subscribed to teach you yet this. By the way, I haven't subscribed at all, and work for free - only because Sivron asked. To the detriment of my main project."

Teach you, Irek thought. Tone you down. His eyes were just at her breast, covered with a tight uniform shirt with Maw research facility stripes, through the fabric her lace bra and the shape of dark nipples were seen. Her top button undone, over her V-shaped collar was a little pit at the base of the thin blue neck, where narrow clavicles part. Irek took her fragile shoulder.

"Kiss me."

His brazen Highness, of course, had seen enough porn ads in Holonet, uninvitedly dropping out of the blue from all the crevices and corners. Ads pop up, and as a result mother-missing boys begin to pester adult aunties.

"Okay. One kiss, and don't bother anymore. It's ridiculous, after all."

"I can command you", Irek stubbornly objected.

"Better tell Sivron to pay me for side job!"

"Sure!"

"I would hope that he will listen to you, sir", Xux pinched both Irek's cheeks, sparks of joy flashed in blue eyes. Her face approached, and he breathed in her hot breath. He lifted his chin. Qwi's lips pressed, opening his mouth, and her blue tongue rushed inside, exploring. Through the fabric of uniform blouse soft breast clung to his. Irek didn't know what to do with his hands, and finally reached to ted her whitish feathers.

Qwi backed away, brushed her hand over her face - and smiled. Irek was so funny now - crimson, half-open lips caught the air, pupils so wide that the rounded eyes seemed to be black on the enthusiastic, flushed baby face. Handsome boy, I wish he were a guy. Irek reached out again, his lips funnily thrust out. Still smiling, Qwi stuck her blue tongue out and outlined his lips. Irek's hands dug into her soft residual feathers again, slid down her cheeks and lower, began to undo her buttons.

"Well then, come on, move away from the computer", Qwi muttered.

The engineer got up, disconnected the laptop. The bastard prince impatiently faltered nearby. When the computer has calmed down in standby mode, Irek grabbed her arm and pulled her to the narrow hard couch, where he got a long-awaited, little less than pained chance to see that yes, her whole body is as blue...

And then Magrody, Golanda, Doxin and even the director Sivron, that's who the professor managed to flush out from the cozy office, burst in. Bribed tutor broke the key in the lock in advance. Qwi and Irek pulled away from each other. The engineer grabbed her uniform shirt and tried to cover herself, crossed legs tucked to her chest. Magrody didn't even have to act out the astonishment and horror.

"And where's Bevel?" was only thing he asked.

"Away from the morning. Tarkin summoned him to an object", Sivron replied automatically.

"I cover for him..." Xux miserably responded.

Magrody, leering, fixed Xux' blushed, in the halo of ridged rudimentary feathers, elongated face with a perturbed look of pupilless blinkers. Doxin chuckled in a fit of feigned coughing. Director's lekku stood up and curled into question marks. Golanda retreated to the door - why should they interfere?

"I am entrusted with guidance of the prince, to whom your employee has caused a deep trauma", turning to his companions, Magrody sadly spoke. "Not only is engineer Xux' behavior unacceptable from a moral point of view, it's also a criminal offense! He is eight years old! I'm going to make Admiral Daala aware."

And he ran, sadly wondering: maybe at some civilized world, where there are police and court, Qwi Xux would have been taken into custody for such a crime - but not in an isolated microcosm of the Maw, where law enforcement functions were performed by Daala's garrison, and the role of the supreme judicial body – by the very Admiral. Magrody relied only on the fact that life in the Maw is unbearably boring. Perhaps Daala will be glad to bring down the hand of vengeance on a someone who has made a slip - whatever is their wrongdoing.

But Daala just shrugged her shoulders,

"Today's children are maturing faster. And then, how could she refuse? - Because he's a prince. How big a fool are you? Don't you understand? Princes usually reward women for this. And you want to pick up the fur fly. Hence, the boy has matured." So Daala concluded and Magrody, dragging his feet, left Admiral's office, cursing his Alderaanian customer and the circumstances: by Irek's side, exposed to the drug, was not the fat man, grown gray in the service, but an exotic girl, and now it's impossible to pose the boy as a victim: in anybody's esteem Irek has become a conqueror.

Besides, Magrody spoiled his relationship with the royal pupil.

"You're fired!" Eyes blazing, the bastard prince blurted. "And instead of you I hire Dr. Xux. She retires from here, and you can get on her vacant place!"

"It wasn't you who hired me, your highness, but your mother. And only your father, who pays my salary, can dismiss me", the inventor of the subelectronic converter haughtily responded.

"I'll call Dad", Irek angrily vowed. But in the Maw communication center the crown prince heard the explanation that they have no right to transmit outgoing messages: all communications with the outside world were prohibited on the highly classified facility, and this extends even to the Admiral Daala.

"And I'm higher than Admiral Daala!" Emperor's son stamped.

And rushed to Admiral - to use her transmitter. But Daala wasn't on the base – she conducted scheduled exercises on orbit. At the moment, calling her on the Gorgon was pointless.

All seething, Irek went to look for the newfound replacer of the recalcitrant, but Qwi Xux was on the scheduled production meeting. Irek stood behind the door for an hour, and finally from the opened doors the stream of live weight poured – in the scientific staff here were less humans than humanoids. One of the first, blue bird flew out. Met eyes with Irek, clearly read on her face: "You will fly away soon, but I work here. Fellow workers won't forget until the end of my days." They cast intolerable glances on her and smiled sultrily.

Irek rushed to Qwi.

"Sivron really promised me a raise", she said.

Irek smugly smiled and grabbed her arm. "Hey, not in front of them!" Qwi would pull up, but stopped short - everybody knows! Prince led his trophy through the corridors of the research facility, not hiding the pride, back straight, trying to seem taller. Absolutely all fellow workers, sour from boredom, hastening with folders from office to office, met them with naughty smiles. Crabs in a barrel.

A synthesizer was connected to the computer in engineer Xux' office.

"You can play?" Irek wondered. Xux nodded, feathers shuddered. "Then play something for me!"

"Irek, you are sent here to study or to have fun?" Xux again tried to nag. The bastard prince grabbed both her hands:

"All my life I have been learning, as far back as I can remember. Back when I couldn't utter "mom", I already had to move objects by Force. In five years I was implanted with my chip. I had two trephinations. Only my four walls and studies. I know only parents and a few old farts who work with dad, and the waiters don't count. You're the youngest person I've ever seen. By the way, my SEC is low. I don't charge. Magrody always did, but I fired him", Prince's steel gray eyes flashed angrily. He pulled out the adapter and cord, presented to the tutor. Qwi parted his hair, found a plug, connect the cable to a power source. The metal socket in child's head looked an awesome triumph of technocracy, flouting all moral principles.

"Aren't you hurt? What do you feel?"

"The second trepanning was just because of the pain. Oh, and beefed up. Now nothing". Irek looked ill, like an adult, even painfully. Xux shuddered.

"You don't regret that they made you a cyborg?"

"No. I've become stronger. I've been improved. Will you play?"

The guinea prince sat motionless at the battery power, cord hanging from his head - chilling parody on padawan's braid. A dreamy, detached expression, Qwi fingered keys and sang a melody without words in a soft, pleasant voice. Irek was proud that the engineer Xux turns out not to be just a pedantic scholar, techie-cracker, but has still so much talent. The synthesizer wasn't enough, she complained that you cannot get a violin, flute or guitar in the Maw. The software she wrote music with made it possible to create samples that simulated the sound of live instruments, but Qwi wanted to learn to really play them. He even promised to sponsor her release. Irek didn't expect Qwi to become a professional singer - she was likely to hesitate to go on stage. But to pay for a studio, hire a band and soundmen - why not? Once to encourage her hobby.

What a sweet, naïve one. Hardly he is so loaded. Careful not to touch the cord, Qwi patted the prince on the head:

"Want to take me out of Maw?"

"Yes!" Irek said, grabbing her blue hand and tasting her pulse in a kiss. "Play something else..."

Pitter patter, bounce!

"What's this?"

This was a horde of angry Wookiees, chasing Professor Magrody throughout the whole Installation, waving fragments of reinforcing bars. Uterine alarm howl reverberated all over the asteroid, mingling with the Wookiee roar. Xux jumped to the transparent office door and looked in horror as Daala's troopers unit tramped from around the corner and dropped the most zealous at once. Quick glance at Irek, she saw the toothy smile – and, swinging, gave the Prince a resounding slap.

"You're nasty, cruel boy! They're unarmed! And Magrody – he's a hypocrite and a fool, but it won't do to kill for it."

Irek felt ashamed, again comparing his methods with Vader's.

Drawing blaster rifles at the surviving woollies, stormtroopers drove them back to the barracks, and trampled Magrody was dragged to the hospital.

Propping up the wall near the conference hall, Irek put through an unpretentious operation: he opened Wookiee barracks with the Force. Upon learning that the workers actually are in slavery, he was unpleasantly surprised: in spite of segregation, the Empire officially declared the right to freedom for all subjects of His Majesty, including non-humanoids. Embittered by years of forced labor and keeper's beatings, shaggy slaves rushed outside with a roar. Irek has never dealt with painstaking perfection of consciousness manipulation skills: his father was too busy at work, though, he promised eventually to find time to hone this ability in the son. But the prince had already sufficiently mastered the empathy. His anger echoed in the Force like the funeral bell, spilling over everything, like a tsunami. It infected the woozy shaggies and the gang of unkept hulks, sweeping away everything on their path, darted to find the white-eyed, eight-fingered, gray-haired geek, whom the Wookiees have never seen, but suddenly wanted to tear apart. Staff passers-by, screaming, hid behind armored doors or ran away backwards.

If the communication has been enabled, Sivron would send a report to Tarkin and petitioned for the delivery of new working force, thirty ones or so. But there was nowhere to wait the drift of new slaves, so that raged Wookiees were laid down with stunning rays. Soon they were up and about. But Magrody was, of course, patched up in hospital, but he remained disabled.

"You cannot work anymore", Irek told him. "We'll give you a lift to Coruscant, but there... Apply for retirement."

X X X

Qwi Xux had no ID card, and the guards have flatly refused to let her in, no matter how much Irek stamped his foot, shouting: "She's with me!"

"Your highness, come in!" invited the protocol droid, who came out to meet the crown prince.

"And she?" the infant demanded.

"The card!" the security staff insisted.

"I won't go anywhere without her."

The prince called his mother. Roganda was on strip dance lesson. Then she dropped in to the manicurist. All this time, Irek, Qwi, and two deaf IG hung at the Palace entrance. After a long drive from the Maw they could go to any diner, but the prince wasn't in pocket (father took on his account, but Irek, incapacitated by age, couldn't withdraw a dime). Qwi had a cash card, but Irek strained to take any handouts from her, even a chips pack. Seeing Roganda's car in the sky (pink this time), Irek suppressed the urge to Force-pull mama's speeder down to the entrance to the first floor - mother was clearly going to park on a high platform near her apartment. He civilizedly called her on the comlink and reported his location. DB-3765, sitting in the car, dived, landed the vessel in the staff parking lot. Irek ran to his mother, behind him Xux trudged, deaf IGs bringing up the rear.

"They don't let us into the palace!"

"Firstly, greetings, Irek."

"May the Force be with you", the prince muttered, hiding his eyes.

"Good afternoon", Xux bleated. Eye-striking luxury of the attire, height and complexity of the hairdo and density of mistress' makeup finally convinced her that her child's magnificent hopes and promises will go dash against the rocks.

"Who are you?" Roganda asked, hostile.

"Engineer Qwi Xux, from Maw Installation."

"And where's Magrody?"

"He got injured and can't work any more", Irek said. "When we landed, he called a taxi and flew home. I already found a replacement." He grabbed Qwi's hand.

"Now I'll show you my passport, diploma, employment records..." Qwi bent over a heavy backpack to unbutton it, but Roganda dismissed.

"Girl, my son doesn't need your services."

"Interview her", the prince shouted. "Dr. Xux is a competent, qualified person, namely she flew with me to the De..."

"Come on home, son, and you'll tell me everything. Haven't seen you for so long!"

"Mom, I've lured, put her up to resign from work, took her to another planet..."

"The girl ought to think for herself."

"We had hoped that you and father will take her to work", Irek flushed with anger, his eyes filled with tears. Qwi hid her face in her hands, only widened eyes seen.

"Not the right level", his mother cut off. "Only a professor is worthy to be prince's tutor, someone who has long proven their name, a recognized authority in the scientific world, who has nurtured a generation of brilliant scientists, patented at least three claims. How old are you, girl?"

"Nineteen!" Qwi replied, turning dark blue.

"And already D. Sc.?" Roganda rubbed her thumb and forefinger. After that, she pulled Irek inside. DB hurried after, two deaf IG and the waiter pattered.

Qwi picked up her huge backpack, turned around and walked, aimlessly, almost bumping into passers-by.

Engineer Xux won't see the palace HR, accounting office and employee badge! She'll have to sleep to the spaceport. You cannot get to the Maw by scheduled starships. Will she really have to scour the seedy taverns and seek some daring one, moonlighting as a taxi driver? Sivron, of course, would take her back, but how painful is being among crabs in a barrel, who shall never forget the scandal with an eight-year-old Prince, now accompanied with gloating that she has been rejected.

In the elevator Roganda tried to portray the maternal tenderness and joy of meeting, but Irek dodged a kiss and sullenly stared at the wall, refusing to talk. Suddenly, through the dark, clotty mist of grievances, a guess erupted. He snatched the comm and wrote the message: "DON'T GO AWAY. THEY'LL LET YOU IN. I COAXED HER." - sent this to Xux and reached out with the Force, searching for HRD.

Qwi didn't have time to walk far away from the Palace Square, looking confused and not daring to ask the squinting in contempt, accustomed to the segregation, pedestrians - the white humans - about a direction. After receiving the message from Irek, she wandered back in amazement - and at the entrance to the government's skyscraper Roganda met her, another, simpler hairdo, and the dress is another, when ever did she have time to change. She whispered the guards to give the wall: "We'll have an ID. His Majesty the Emperor allowed." Muttered to Qwi, "Why are you standing?" and took her over a wide hallway to one of the elevators.

On the way to favored mistress' apartment they had to pass guards and refer to the Emperor a few more times, and Qwi just amazed at sudden change in Madame Ismaren's behavior.

The dimensions of the pyramid boggled the imagination. Ceiling height, width of corridors, ringing marble and granite, pomp stucco and glitter of clading, the number of employees they met on their way - all that was breathtaking for Qwi, accustomed to closed space, force fields and transparent plastic.

Roganda led her home, and gestured towards the dining room. Qwi awkwardly took off her shoes and, putting her heaviest backpack on the floor near the front door, ambled to the dining room - and frantically looked over her shoulder. Two Rogandas. Her escort, and the one that was sitting on a chair, not in a smart pink dress but in a dressing gown, eating a diet salad. A protocol droid buttled her. She turned to the newcomers, and morose Irek's face beamed triumphantly.

"Sit down!" He commanded. "Waiter, bring lunch for my teacher."

Roganda dolefully raised her eyebrows plucked in a bizarre comma shape, and said,

"Well, Xux, if my son wants so much to invite you..."

Qwi perched on a chair, smoothed her skirt and, tugging a button of her single blouse, from that she had ripped the Maw Installation badge before the flight, watched as the droid filled her plates with the same dietary and terribly unappetizing food. Irek winked gleefully. She couldn't force an answering smile. She used to work with computers, graphs and tables, rather than with people, and her previous professional responsibilities didn't include the need to please someone. And now the hostess instantly didn't like her. In fact, Qwi thought, what can you expect from a mother who has made her son a guinea.


	5. Kidnapping

**Chapter 5 - K****idnapping **

Shimmering hologram of Princess Leia hung in front of Professor Magrody.

"Finally, you've come back, how much precious time the Alliance lost in waiting for blueprints... How's royal family?"

"Best of all", Magrody growled.

"Is Palpatine going anywhere?"

"The Emperor doesn't visit his vassals' planets. For this matter he has enough ambassadors."

"That's right, why would he rush across the Galaxy, he feels good here, in convenience and comfort, care for his shriveled body... This dirty old man!.. This tyrant! It's already worth to overthrow him because he keeps a harem of mistresses", Leia said.

Magrody went so bug-eyed that the glasses slid to the tip of the nose.

"Um... Your Highness, the Emperor doesn't exactly have a harem. And cannot have. He's not a Hutt, not Cerean, not a primitive Kaleesh - he belongs to the enlightened civilization of Naboo, and humankind adheres to monogamy since ancient times. A human having a harem? Among humans, this is not a sign of prestige. Vice versa. That would be scandalous and unacceptable."

"When I was first introduced to the Emperor's court, I've seen six his concubines this guest-night", Leia persisted.

"The Princess is 19 or 20 - probably doesn't think about anything else" Magrody induced and uttered,

"Mm, those ladies could well be courtiers' wives and daughters."

"They didn't look like that! And you - you are used to teach, accustomed to the peremptory confidence in your indisputable self-righteousness. And you aren't a courtier, you're only a modest tutor of the prince. Thinking only about your own formulas and tables and never noticing the cynicism of a bloody tyrant whom you serve."

"Look! I'm late to the hospital for a checkup. And why? I listen to your fantasies about the unthinkable debauchery and mighty potency of elderly men? I wanted to tell you only one thing: I have fulfilled your instruction, and the prince let the mad Wookiee crowd loose on me. I was trampled. I had 14 fractures, multiple concussion, got hit in my kidneys, liver and spleen rupture. I draw up my disability retirement. My wife camps on the medical commission doorstep with my bill of health."

"He discovered that you cooperate with the Alliance?"

"He has not been taught to read minds", Magrody smiled bleakly. "Because I made a scandal in connection with the Prince's, um, act under the influence of the drug."

"Blueprints, what about blueprints? Has he handed you a copy?"

"I couldn't achieve Qwi Xux' detention."

"What Qwi Xux? We agreed on the project director - Lemelisk."

"On the trip. Directly on the place. Xux was his first assistant, also had access to all relevant data. In Lemelisk's absence she was attached to Irek. You see the difference? A girl! She is 19. Daala stated that Irek was a hero. As much as I tried to set the incident forth as a crime, the result was only my injury and disability retirement!"

Leia wailed,

"And the blueprints?"

"In Irek's head. With certain methods of persuasion he'll draw them for you."

"How did you stuck them in there?"

"He studied them", Magrody sighed. "To manage some devices, the prince must learn their schematics and visualize how the accessories are working to simulate all the processes occurring in them."

"Oh, so you have to offer the Alliance to kidnap the Prince of the Galactic Empire! Why don't you have submitted this valuable advice before, yet on flight to Coruscant? Intercepting the ship would be much easier than plowing down through hordes of the palace guard, are you aware?"

"Was undergoing the bacta treatment!"

At that time, Bail was distributing instructions by hologram for pirates and smugglers who were preparing a raid on another imperial subject. When the meeting was over and the holograms of the accomplices faded, his daughter entered the room. Leia's facial expression was extremely sour. She didn't let her father in her Cunning Plan, hoping to enjoy the astonished expression on his face, when she presents him blueprints of the Death Star. So now it wasn't worth to own up to the collapse of her hopes in retrospect.

And at that same moment on place of faded rebel holograms milky fog clot broke out, tapered montrals, lekku, lean little form, and shining enormous eyes.

"Just cause you are doing!" Ahsoka stirred up panic. "Overthrow the criminal regime of the vampire, fattened on the blood of the dead warriors of the Force!"

"Ouch!" Leia called out.

"Padawan Tano", Bail gloomily introduced the disembodied visitor. "My daughter Leia".

"It's, of course, pleasant that a Jedi approves us. If only the Jedi was still alive", Leia sighed.

"And what can I do?" Ahsoka responded, offended. "In such a state? Just haunt and grate on nerves of traitors, such as Jerec, Ferus, Roganda..."

"By the way", Leia exclaimed, "about Roganda! My contact, a tutor, said that Palpatine and Roganda's son, Irek Ismaren, has learned the blueprints for Death Star. And if we catch him, he draws them for us."

"I remember Magrody's message that Palpatine attempts to artificially create a genius", Bail said with the revulsion, failing to imagine how the parents conduct experiments on their own child. "But I don't follow what you're, Leia, are driving at and what Ahsoka can do to help. To steal the crown prince from the palace?" He snorted. "A task no more easier than to kidnap Palpatine himself. Grievous succeeded in his time only because Palpatine himself plotted so."

"Look", Leia said, "but what if Ahsoka lures Irek? Magrody said that Palpatine's son considers himself a Jedi, and is nuts over stories about the exploits of the Templars. He likes namely the Jedi, not the Sith. And he wasn't allowed for a trip to the Temple ruins", Leia remembered. "I think we can use this information."

"I got it!" Ahsoka exclaimed.

She is no longer a restless vagrant spirit, reminiscing about past battles and glory of the extinguished Order. She also contributes to the just cause of the Rebellion - Revenge of the Jedi!

X X X

Peering into his soul, Ahsoka realized that the prince was already not so terribly lonely for her to strike on his isolation and lack of experience. Prince was in love, and Ahsoka realized that his childish feelings were volatile, his first spur factor was a taboo: the age gap, mother's intransigence, the feeling of guilt before Xux. If not all of these obstacles, he would soon have tired of the adult blue girl and she'd have been thrown away like a toy, that has lost the appeal of novelty. But she was taken away from him. He fights. He's hurt.

Having disemboweled bastard prince's mind, Ahsoka, never stopping to probe his mind with the Force, materialized over the holocomm.

"Where you are?" the prince cried out.

"Still on Coruscant", the Jedi shrugged her shoulders. "I shouldn't be here in first place, I'm leaving today."

"Are you angry with me, Qwi? I'm guilty..."

Yes, Qwi! Ahsoka helped him see what he wanted.

"I know you won't fix anything. You meant well. Maybe you'll see me off? I want to say goodbye to you... for real."

"Where will you wait for me?" Irek sprung to his feet.

"At the Palace square. And will they release you?"

"I know how to get past the security", pride flashed in the child's voice, immediately strangled by barely restrained tears.

Irek climbed into the R2N7 can, thinking, "I guess it's last time I use it. Grow up", and the invisible Ahsoka followed him to the Palace exit, all over the elevators and lobby. Droid was freely allowed to pass; Ahsoka materialized in the street, still visible only to Irek, but through the crack in the droid hull he took her for Qwi. They went past the palace square, darted into the gap between the huge buildings, and there R2 cover sank, the "bucket" heeled over, and Irek tumbled out. Without any words he rushed to her, wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her chest. Irek was confident that this was a live, hot, blue body. He didn't realize that he was hugging the empty space. Someone from passers-by stared in bewilderment at the kid, but passed, as well as those who have not noticed. Nobody cared.

"Irek, I know you're not to blame. I'll remember you", Ahsoka played the fool, leading the sulken Prince farther away from crowded places. From a doorway two Toydarians flew out, flailing their wings. The right one grabbed the prince's hand, left one - his feet. And lifted him up into the air. Ahsoka giggled and waved kicking, screaming Prince, "So long, Irek!" – And, her head thrown back, watched the abductors carrying away their prey, until the house closed them from her view.

X X X

Xux reseated the Devaronian into the second pilot chair, and the hornie, clinging to the seat belt and cursing his passenger, jolting, bumpings, irradiation and overload he was exposed to by her fault, looked in horror at the colorful gas vortices, tracing the gloom in chorea between gullets of black holes.

"You're a smuggler? With such a profession you'd have to be stronger", Qwi spat, desperately wobbling the vessel, shaken by gravitational drops in ceaseless evasive action from the black holes attraction zones. The Devaronian only moaned in response, he was sick. And finally the freighter emerged from swirling nebula gases - in the eye of the storm, fifteen asteroids loomed ahead, bonded with bars, stone fragments and four massive ISDs revolving around.

"Unidentified ship, name yourselves", a sharp voice rumbled from the transmitter.

"Gorgon", smiling, Qwi leaned to the microphone, "engineer Xux speaking. I'm on board of the cargo ship "Hawk", with me, uh, a taxi driver. I ask for the site access."

"You will be lifted on board for inspection."

Tractor beam captured and pulled the cursing Devaronian's vessel into the gaping Gorgon's chops.

Upon listening to unhappy Xux' story, Daala let her go to the asteroid.

"You're so naive", Admiral said at parting. "A child brings home a girl twice older... even more. Mom, it's Qwi, she will live with us! And you expected his mother to let you in the door?"

Xux looked down.

"Well, fix it there with Sivron. And we'll send your Devaronian in Wookiee barracks. I don't have the right to release him, let him be useful there!"

Xux drove the confiscated Hawk to the Installation. Stormtroopers led the unlucky pilot to Wookiee barracks, and Qwi, delivering the Hawk to hangar crew, went to get the same job again. At the sight of seeker of kings and princes' favors Director Sivron smiled widely and very nasty...

X X X

The bastard prince woke up in the hold of a smuggler's ship. Mouth sealed with a plastic tape, the donkey jacket under the head, dark - even pitch dark, chilling cold, the right hand was weighted down with a chain. Irek extended his free left hand - and felt for wool on hot little body. Ysalamiri, to whose collar Irek's handcuff had been fastened, stepped his paws on his chest and began to sniff at his face, licked his nose. Irek stood up, dragging the ysalamiri behind him, groping in the dark - boxes, bales, wall... Sitting on the cold floor was impossible, and Irek had to get a jacket, reeking with ysalamiri's urine. The boy didn't know how many hours have passed, the thought about lavatory gradually outshone all the others - where he was being taken, whether they are looking for him at home, to whom Qwi sold him, scurvy trick for scurvy trick. The last thing he remembered – a Toydarian croaked, "Hey, bro, he's stirring – what if he breaks out?", and flyers, sitting on the ledge, made him a calmative injection in the neck. Indeed, he kicked in vain - he couldn't yet nosedive like adult Jedi, if they dropped him – he'd have crashed to death. If he weren't stung, maybe he would have learned from the kidnappers, where he was being transported to... Finally, Irek failed to hold in and settled himself to some baling. Angered ysalamiri, which he splashed in the dark, bit him in the leg. Spitting on his hand and wiping blood from his leg, he wrinkled his nose in increased stench.

Irek suspected that the kidnappers' ship was entering the atmosphere, going down to the landing platform... A Blood Carver brought him out from the hold. The parking was clearly private, belonged to an owner of the country mansion with a large garden. Irek lingered on the ramp – real air, not artificial, like in the Maw Installation and on Coruscant, mingled with the smell of grass, the boy's head swum. The Carver poked his blaster in his back: "Get on the ball!" A second speciman of the same race followed, and his partner took his trophy into the house. Also two Carvers maintained the parking, and Irek passed already the fifth in a row - the guard. Alderaan. Where are they still found in such quantities? Alderaan, an outpost of the rebels. Of course, not all Alderaanians support the rebellion, there are those who work only for themselves. Perhaps he was stolen just for the sake of redemption, without intent to demand some political concessions from the father? Organizers must have long arms, and moreso - eyes and ears in the palace: they knew that Irek was a Force user, got hold of an ysalamiri, recruited Qwi... Qwi! I will destroy the Maw, I'll direct the superlaser at the Installation and blow it into space dust! - Irek thought. Distance is not an obstacle for the Force. However, he wasn't sure if Qwi was in the native think tank. If she was a rebel now, her knowledge could be used on any planet where her new owners required.

The Carver, guarding Irek, brought him to the basement. Narrow closet was already prepared to receive guests: rag on the floor and a bucket in the corner, that's the whole furniture. Irek and ysalamiri fastened to him were left in darkness again.

And again he didn't know how many hours had passed. Waiting drove him crazy. Finally - sound of footsteps, key creaked in the lock, and on the verge of a vague light from the corridor the same security guard came. Irek frowned. The bully motioned him out and took hostage upstairs into the hall filled with intolerable light - bright, cheerful palette, such as light and bright furnishings - and then to the control room. A black, ball-like droid, bristling with needles, hung against the wall. A sexless, distorted voice came from the speakers:

"Remove the tape."

The guard pulled the tape, Irek howled, blood appeared from his new gall.

"If you're canny, your highness", the voice murmured mockingly, "we'll even feed you."

Irek thought that his father probably wouldn't even consider paying a ransom. According to the Magrody's drawings a new converter will be compiled, implanted to another Force user... if it's necessary to create a second such cyborg. He was silent. Invisible observer spoke again,

"Want to know what will be your co-operation?" Pause. Irek persistently simulated deafness. "In your head, my prince, are the blueprints for the Death Star. You will be given a computer, and you just draw for us, share your knowledge..."

"And you kill me."

"Refuse to cooperate – you'll starve, your highness."

"What choice I have - quick or slow death?"

"Would you say: I'd rather die slowly, but you don't use my knowledge?" Laughter rustled in the voice. "You cannot imagine, young man, what is a pain."

And the torture droid rushed to Irek.

X X X

"You dauntlessly let him go to the Maw, you should have already become accustomed to his absence. Well, give birth to another, you're only 22! Roganda, stop crying, you open your mouth in so unpretty way. Yes, of course, I'll look for him in the Force, but you realize that he could be taken away from Coruscant? Yes, I can, but don't you care how long it takes, not to mention how much strain. Well, I'll join the efforts of police, prowling through all hospitals, mortuaries, slot halls... Don't cry more, wash yourself. And don't bother me. I'll go look for."

He shut himself in his meditation room and fell into a trance, while in Roganda's head sounded - likely her own, but at the same time she knew that externally imposed - thoughts, she couldn't but understand that someone else's influence generates them. He is now so vulnerable. He is not here, he's far away, he won't notice as you sneak up on. He trusts you. He's attached to you in his own way, if he still lives with you. Trusts. Kill. Steal up and shoot in the back, hold the saber handle to his back and activate the beam. Yes, kill with a lightsaber, the weapon of a warrior of the Force. Avenge thousands of your brothers who had been repressed by his order. The Temple lies in ruins, but you remain a warrior of the Temple. And you'll stay until your bones decay. Perform your duty. Last Sith must fall from the hands of the Jedi. Accomplish the revenge of the Jedi. Kill the Emperor. Revenge of the Jedi. Kill the Emperor.

But what a dead idiot is trying to persuade her to encroach on such lunker as Palpatine? As if he wouldn't discern in the Force as she begins to "creep". Not to mention how she'd be spifflicated, even if she were able to catch him off guard, that is technically impossible: Palpatine and "off guard" are the incongruous notions. And not to mention the fact that he does sustain her, and right now she needs him more than ever: he is looking for Irek.

Oh, that's who. _The_ idiot.

"Kill Palpatine, and I'll tell you where is your son", Ahsoka said, resurfacing out of nowhere when Roganda identified her presence in the Force.

"How do you know where is my child?" the favored mistress inquired skeptically.

"The dead know everything. Kill the Emperor, and I'll tell you where is little Irek. And he's in a bad way there, oh how bad..." Ahsoka clicked her tongue with delight, rolling her huge eyes.

"Is he still alive?"

"He's alive now... But if you don't hurry", menacing pause hung, and Ahsoka jabbed her finger to the side – a shelf slid, her lightsaber took off and swam through the air towards Roganda. The favorite mechanically noticed that the ghosts, it appears, don't lose the ability to move objects with the Force.

The saber suddenly jerked to the side and landed in senile, strewn with buckwheat, faded hand. Ahsoka wanted to fly away, but Palpatine barked,

"Stop!"

"Using the Force, Chancellor?" the ghost burst out laughing. "I'm dead, your attempts to me..." Ahsoka mockingly danced on the spot, desperately striking out her legs and waving her arms like wings. "Poor Irek!" She somersaulted back over her head and disappeared - just a spark of white mist scattered around the room.

X X X

Trembling, blood vessels in his eyes exploded, stumbling Irek was again committed into the cellar. The guard, not even bothering to switch on the light, put an iron bowl of porridge - without bread - for him.

"Where's a spoon?"

"Lap it up like ysalamiri. Oh, and don't forget to feed the beast", the guard replied sneeringly, and slammed the door, leaving the bastard prince in the pitch dark. Ysalamiri jumped and knocked the bowl out from his hands, he could hear him eat from the floor.

The kid refused to reproduce the drawings, even under the influence of the investigation droid. How useful he could be! He can handle a ship remotely, using the Force. With such a weapon like that cyborg entire fleets could be trounced without a single shot, ISDs – reversed, forced to shoot at each other! What if we give him to meddroids, make another trepanation and embed in his brain a kind of remote control to make him fully under control, to suppress his will? We can re-invite Magrody to complete his training. Possessing a weapon such as Irek Ismaren, the rebels will be invincible! Vexed Leia called to Palpatine's office. Previously she had to explain with many intermediate instances, wait to report back to another, until it comes to Palpatine. Finally, she was connected with the Emperor himself, and Leia set out her conditions relating to taxation, the controlling powers of imperial authorities, and much, much more. He promised to review her demands. And then Bail scolded her for that. He believed that Irek's location was necessary to be kept in secret.

"But I didn't say on what planet we are", Leia excused.

Bail sadly waved her aside.

Signalers couldn't establish a direct source of the call. The transmission was broadcasted from station to station to avoid DF. One thing was clear: the call was from Alderaan.

X X X

"Good morning, my Emperor!" Hologram stood bolt upright.

Spurning Roganda, who was doing her duty under the table, his Majesty the Emperor rasped:

"Wilhuff! Due to your latest report, the station is ready to be brought into action?"

"Yes, sire, but the personnel deck and hangars in the lower quadrant of the eastern hemisphere have not yet been installed."

"But superlaser and hyperdrive?.." A leg hold that forced Roganda to return to her duty.

"Ready, sire."

"Excellent. I found you a target for testing. You will explode Alderaan."

"In what terms?"

"Report on fulfillment. And exactly when to fire - I'll tell you myself."

"Will be done, Your Majesty."

X X X

Night shrouded the capital of Alderaan, Aldera. In the royal residence only guards kept watch. Sleepy queen Breha, wrapped in a dressing gown, was woken up, mumbled something about an urgent message, and escorted into the hall. There, surrounded by bare angry Breha's guards, a woman stood, dressed in a black Jedi hakama - and with a Jedi weapon. How hasn't the lightsaber been taken away? How has she been actually let in? Breha was then informed that the guest had had all the access codes, landing clearance, permits – like the Commission to Investigate the Treason of Alderaan members, which the local administration had no right to obstruct - and an ID card of an ad hoc agent, sent to Alderaan as the envoy of the Emperor.

"In 45 minutes", the woman said almost inaudibly, "the Death Star arrives to Alderaan. Contact Bail now - and evacuate."

"How the Death Star? Why? They can't blow up Alderaan!" Half-awake Breha didn't realize that she wasn't supposed to know about the very existence of the station, its construction in the far-away orbit of Despayre haven't been enlightened in the media, and her awareness was at least suspicious. "We are a peaceful planet, we have no weapons..."

"Emperor's order. And when you see the Death Star here, above your peaceful planet, - say: "Thank you, Bail!" - before you will be spreaded into space dust."

"Who are you?" Breha finally uttered.

"I'm Roganda Ismaren." If she hasn't introduced - Breha wouldn't have recognized her without all her diamonds. "I learned about Emperor's intentions. He doesn't know what I'm here. Look, you should call your husband. If you hurry, he and you both will have time to escape into hyperspace. Call. And check that he takes the hostage in the evacuation."

The whole procession moved to the nearest holotransmitter. Bail didn't answer immediately. Finally the image of the fugitive viceroy in his pajamas loomed over the transmitter.

"Bail", Breha sobbed, "we need to evacuate. The Emperor ordered to blow up Alderaan. The Death Star will be here in half an hour."

"Ah, who told?" Sleepy Bail coughed up, blinking his swollen eyes.

Roganda stepped into the projection area.

"The Emperor is not going to satisfy your demands. Instead, he gave an order to blow up your planet. Along with my son. And I made a choice, flew to warn you."

"So you abandoned Palpatine", Bail recalled Mara Jade had also allegedly offered her lightsaber to the Rebellion. But Roganda is closely watched by Breha's men. Even a Jedi Master cannot reflect so many blaster bolts at once.

In the two residences everybody began to move, gathering things. Throwing assets in a suitcase, Bail Organa was feverishly thinking, "Damn, all my money is in the Bank of Alderaan. When this all blows up, I'll remain poor." When he was told that Tantive IV was ready, he slammed shut the second suitcase, and bolted to the exit. Servants, guards, step-daughter, Threepio and Artoo galloped behind him, and with them Irek, dragging the ysalamiri chained to his hand.

Death Star hung in the black sky like an apple with a bite taken out of it. If the prototype was cavernous - a bare frame with the necessary filling, then this was solid, except for "gnawed off" quarter in the southern hemisphere.

Bail, Leia and their people kept tense silence. The same idea was in their heads: their ship will be intercepted while leaving the atmosphere. Night sky was traced with points and stripes of Imperial ships, as if the gnawed-off apple began to spit out the seeds.

"Why they don't shoot?" Irek couldn't help but said, never taking his eyes from the viewport. While the Star was hanging above Alderaan, the superlaser would have come full cycle. But Death Star was slow.

"Maybe if they catch me, they don't need to blow the whole planet", Bail finally brought out. Orbital roadblocks narrowed the ring over Alderaan.

Holotransmitter came to life.

"Is the hostage with you?" Breha asked. She called from aboard her ship, Roganda loomed behind, her lips tight. Her little ship was driven into the hold of Breha's vessel.

"Bargaining is useless", Bail shrugged. He has discovered that Prince's life was cheap.

"Try to break through", pressing the intercom button, he instructed the pilots and gunners. "We will shoot back up to the last. The main thing - time to get out of the atmosphere and try to escape into hyperspace."

Bail looked at Irek. Maybe the kid will be able to knock out a patrol boat? Although he didn't particularly believe in the tales about the omnipotence of the subelectronic converter, but he had no choice.

"You chained me to an ysalamiri", Irek snapped. The key to the handcuffs, of course, was left in the house. And then Bail gave the captain an order to activate Tantive IV self-destruction program - if they are caught by tractor beam.

Bail didn't have to shoot back. Neatly, in order not to hurt the passengers, Imperials hit the Alderaanian leader's ship with the ion cannon. Systems on Tantive IV passed out in step - with the best will in the world unable to self-destruct. Right now Bail would be happy to shoot Irek, but the lights went out, and the boy wisely crawled away and hid behind Winter. Shooting at random didn't make sense. Tractor beam lifted Bail's ship aboard a shuttle, Breha's was dragged to another, and from there taken to the Death Star. Bail's men tried to shoot, scurrying about the Tantive. Bail himself kept inveterately shooting. Breha's men immediately surrendered. When they came for Bail, the Viceroy, hiding in the engine compartment, made a last escapade – held the blaster to Irek's head and wailed,

"Step close – then I'll kill him!"

"Come on", the team head put a bold face, "he's not ours!"

Bail pulled the trigger but it turned out that by the time he had already shot all the charges. Then he was given a tug. Pushing the rebels with their blasters, stormtroopers brought the two parties of prisoners from the hangars and led to the elevators, and then - to the prison level. Ismarens escaped this fate: mother and son were sent to Tarkin.

The Governor admired the view of a greenish ball of Alderaan from the bridge windows. He didn't even deign to turn to the soldiers' voices, who reported that the prince has been brought. Site personnel clung to controls. Everyone was waiting for royal command. Soon Roganda was led in. At the sight of his mother the boy sighed convulsively, as she nervously smiled, activated her lightsaber and slashed the handcuff chain. Ysalamiri broke free and immediately hid under someone's chair.

It was time to call the Emperor. His Majesty asked whether they have captured the high-ranking insurgents, and upon receiving an affirmative answer, the Emperor gave the go-ahead to test a shot.

Green flash of superlaser cut through the darkness.

"Its firing rate is one shot in 24 hours", Irek disapproved, and while he was speaking, a green beam struck the planet. A fireball burst into bloom, dispersing waves of hot gas and the stone fragments. The agonizing cry of billions of sentient beings overwhelmed the Force. After a moment everything was quiet.


	6. Death Star

**Chapter 6 - Death Star**

Grand Moff Tarkin ordered to withdraw the Death Star to its home shipyard above Despayre and to complete the fitting-up. While the Star was cutting through hyperspace, Irek didn't sit by idly – he sauntered about control rooms, hangars, generator rooms - more than enough interesting hardware! – escorted by a pair of stormtroopers and an engineer named Ohran Keldor. Well-trained staff with stoned faces let the well-born ankle biter into the inner sanctum, but when someone has allowed himself to emit into the Force somewhat excessive irritation at the importunate boy, pawing over expensive apparatus under their responsibility, Irek arranged not catastrophic, but nerve-wracking system malfunctions in their workplace. Only Keldor knew which way the wind was blowing, and slavishly asked the Dauphin not to indulge.

But the new equipment couldn't completely distract Irek. He asked the investigator, who worked with the rebels, to ask Organa about Xux. But...

"Organa contends that he isn't familiar with the name Qwi Xux, your highness", the investigator told. Irek blushed. He was ready to break into Organa's cell and to shake confession out of him with the Force – if only he knew how. Why is his training really so one-sided, and he can't peer into people's minds, to loosen their tongues?

"Mom!" Irek grabbed his comlink. When Roganda replied that she was in the gym, Irek begged, "Mom, you need to check on Organa's veracity..."

"He said, where is the rebel base?" Roganda didn't believe.

"He said he didn't know Qwi Xux."

"Maybe she's such a small fry, that he didn't know about her role in your kidnapping."

"I am not a small fry, as if he, the organizer, didn't know who pulled me out of the house and gave out to those Toydarians."

A bunch of people - Ismarens, investigator and bodyguard - streamed into the prison unit to Bail.

"Organa", Roganda began, "do you know Qwi Xux' whereabouts?"

"I have already answered this question", the convict sadly replied. "I don't know this man. I don't know who he is."

Roganda listened to him in the Force, shook her head, a crinkle cut through her forehead,

"He's not lying."

"Then who has... I want to know the whole chain. All members of my abduction." Irek assumed that through one of them they end up with Xux.

"Useless. Their names will be useful but for the list of those killed in the planet explosion."

Irek looked inquiringly at his mother. Roganda shook her head - Bail wasn't lying.

"And now, madam Ismaren, Your Highness... The scene will be..." the investigator packed them off, clicking remote control activation of the sphery black droid. Armored door slammed behind Roganda and Irek, sealing a scream.

"And if she was on Alderaan?" Irek grabbed his hair.

"Then there's no problem!"

"But what would she be doing there?"

Roganda easily shrugged her shoulders - an engineer on the rebel base is always useful - and crossed the corridor, stopping in front of a black spot of the viewport, streaked with luminescent stripes.

"You aren't sorry for Alderaan?"

"There was a rebel base."

"One of many. And Organa refuses to leak a rest."

"I'm thinking: such a lord, with such powerful establishment, and doesn't know where are the rebels."

"The galaxy is too big, Irek."

"But spies?"

"Human is weak. Fond of money. We bought out of their informant on Toprava. How many ours have they palmed?.."

"I have a feeling that it's necessary to pull this recalcitrant to Sidious himself. The local craftsmen still fail to make him talk."

"Oh, baby, your dad has already enough work. And Tarkin's men are ashamed to sign their own incompetence - a rebel, albeit a senior - to the Emperor himself!"

"He's hard-headed", Irek said, "here it won't do without the Force... They can but torture him to death, but we need something else."

X X X

In the middle of a planned meeting Tarkin got a call that the prince wanted to see him. Dismissing the meeting, the governor made his tracks for a turbolift who has borne him into the throne room. "Governor Tarkin," a stormtrooper at the entrance reported through the intercom. Having received the reply, "Let him in", the guys showed the Grand Moff in.

Stellate darkness in the vast viewport behind the pedestal, on which a revolving chair overlooked, steel gray, stern, ascetic audience hall, designed not to astonish with luxury, but cause awe of technocratic power. Grim, lifeless majesty of the Death Star gave rise to a sense of irrelevance of flesh and blood in this room, where, apparently, was a place only for droids. Throne on the dais slowly turned to the newcomer. Irek collapsed in his father's chair, hung his legs over the armrest. Tarkin greeted the boy with a sharp nod, thinking that the Constitution is not rewritten yet, the Emperor is still an elective position, and uppity brat already sends the Death Star chief to run like an aid all over the station entrusted to him - and his mother herself walks to Tarkin's office by foot, previously making agree with his secretary about the time.

"Governor", Irek began, "have the say to contact Maw. I need to ask Admiral Daala a few questions."

Tarkin has puzzled his comm officers. Soon Admiral's holo projection grew before the throne. When she was informed that the call is from the Death Star, she was certainly prepared to see Tarkin and already looking forward to finally get a worthwhile task – she felt like waging a war! - but instead of gray-haired governor's predatory features, bastard prince's joyless face appeared before the wistful provincial admiral.

"My prince", the bossy lady uttered, discouraged.

"Admiral Daala. Tell me", Irek folded his arms, "do you know Dr. Xux' whereabouts?"

"For a week in the Installation. Proceeded to her former duties."

Irek frowned. A week? Then Xux could not be on Coruscant, when he was dragged off by the rebels. If a week, it turns out that she immediately left the capital, getting turned down! He demanded Sivron, Kratas, Golanda to the transmitter – everyone declared in unison that Qwi Xux has returned a week ago. Weird. Crabs in the barrel wouldn't provide an alibi for their scandalously notorious employee. It cannot be that the whole Maw Installation was aware of rebel scam?

Finally the holo image of Xux herself appeared before the prince.

"How much did they pay you?" the prince shouted.

"Nobody has paid me anything, including you, Mr. Ismaren, pretending to be my friend."

"So that's the point!" Irek flared. "I'll give you money. How much?"

"Million."

"Million", Irek repeated.

"Enough for the first time."

"Well, you get your money - and then you will no longer do nasty things to me?"

"Yes, of course." Xux folded her thin hands on her chest. "Especially when I have never done them."

"You gave me to the rebels!"

"I don't know any rebels. How would I?"

Xux' unshakable calm finally pushed Irek over the edge.

"You brought me out of the house and passed from hand to hand to two Toydarians, they loaded me on board... and you're saying in my face that no..."

"Do you hallucinating?" Xux cut him short peremptorily. "I had nowhere to stay overnight after your mother hadn't let me on the doorstep. I immediately began looking for a pilot who would take me to Maw. I couldn't seep through walls. Perhaps you've been taking some medications?" She barely kept clean tongue.

"Yes, I take stimulants, but it's not drugs, this pills are designed to prolong wakefulness, increase efficiency, expand my brain abilities..."

"Who put you wise to take these wonder drugs?"

"Mom."

"Good mom you have... I guess you have overeaten them, your pills."

Weird, that she denies to his face that she has personally met him! He couldn't but believe himself. But Xux' behavior was incongruous! Daala shifted her full-doubt gaze from the Prince's hologram to the savant lady: apparently, she wouldn't still be told to throw Xux overboard.

Irek excitedly licked his lips.

"We need to meet, Xux", he said finally, "to discuss. I'll show them to you. Daala, will you give her a shuttle and a pilot?"

"Please accept my assurances of love and friendship," Xux smirked, "but no, I can't go. I work." Irek puffed his lips. The engineer added: "Once you've already brought me out. You grow up first, and then make proposals to women."

Irek nodded sadly, never ceasing to sulk, and a hologram from the Death Star went out.

"All are free", Daala dismissed the scientists. "And you, Xux, stay."

When the door closed behind the last of them, Daala stretched in her chair. Qwi remained standing.

"How can you refuse," smiling to her own thoughts, Admiral said. "To see the Death Star with your own eyes! This is not the local surrogate."

"As the accused?" Qwi parried. "I would see only a prison block."

"Still, I'll put you on the lie detector. You know what we have a miraculous detector. You'll tell me the truth whether you cooperated with the rebels", spitefully wrenching a corner of her mouth, Daala promised. Xux sighed.

"He takes some medication. Including yarrock."

"And spice?" Daala was startled, involuntarily glancing at the viewport, as if Kessel could be seen from there.

"I know only about yarrock. Believe me, ma'am, the boy most likely started hallucinating. He is a defective child, spoiled. Two needless trepanations, a chip in the brain, stimulants, and he's yet a Force user. What I've read about the Jedi, is more like fiction, but it seems that visions are a common occurrence for them."

Having digested the information, Daala grinned,

"And what, from where will he take a million? He can't have his own business, although his dad will, of course, load him with money to his full legal age, but you'll have to wait another ten years. He is good to throw words to the wind."

Qwi shrugged. She perfectly remembered that when they were hanging on the Palace square, Irek didn't have a single dime. Apparently, Admiral dreams that Qwi will share expected fee with her.

Biting her lip and tilting her head to one side, Daala regarded her subordinate. Rearing whitish feathers, cold sarcastic eyes on a gentle blue face. No, she might well have contact with the rebels. Just because you'll howl from boredom in our think tank. Sorry for us, buried alive in this nook. Spending childbearing years in the hollowed boulder, breathing with artificial air, eating synthesized tasteless rations, radiation-exposed - in Maw, many staff members were undergoing chemotherapy, and frightening "pears" of tumors hung on the Wookies. Loneliness was blatant. Daala was a prominent woman, not yet old, with lush red locks. Form profitably emphasized her. And no prospects. Xux' story reminded her of her own experience - how much disapproval she endured because of her affair with the hopelessly married boss. Humanity has mastered space, but has not learned tolerance to unmarried women. Crabs in the barrel still remember, and the patron has long grown cold to his former girlfriend, sent her in the backwoods and forget to think about her. Indescribably distressed by the call from the Death Star that wasn't meant for her, Daala pushed the selector button,

"Trima, send a couple of guys." Stormtroopers came. "Take her to the interrogation room!"

The promised lie detector, which is a torture chair. The little scamp gave to wistful Admiral an excellent accusation against Xux. A rebel! Where in the galaxy could she meet them?

X X X

On their heels, the rebels rushed with rocket launchers, thermal detonators and heavy blaster rifles. The first stepped near the sunken trail of the walker's "paw" - and an explosion rumbled. Irek jerked the "stompy" aside, visibility was shrouded in smoke, ears laid. "Stompy" was shaken by the shock wave. Irek blinked and, gripping the controls with wet hands, took the AT-AT through a minefield. He probed the neighborhood with the Force, seeking buried mines. AT-AT walked slowly, zigzagging, making its way diagonally across the edge of the scorched fields, under the protection of the jungle. It's nothing, he repeated to himself, it's like to fly from Maw to Kessel, he did so, and coped. Above his head there was a roar of diving fighter, a laser beam slashed, Irek jerked to the right - and a metal AT-AT claw came down on a mine.

Ohran Keldor looked at the timer and winced.

"Three minutes seven seconds, and you stepped on a mine. Want to see the results of others?"

"No", Irek growled, raising his hand with a watch and jumping out of the simulator. "Lunch."

In the small dining room, where the station bosses swallowed their soldiers ration, Irek turned to the Governor:

"You have seen indisputable proof of the connection between Maw staff and the rebels. Qwi Xux was involved in my kidnapping, and such distinguished gentlemen like herself Admiral Daala, director of the Installation Sivron and other officials provide her an alibi, claiming that on the day she was at work."

Tarkin's cheekbones cramped. Maw Installation was his brainchild, he appointed "traitors", listed by Irek to this place, and if the charges against them are true, the shadow will fall on their military supervisor. Moff didn't believe that careerist Daala was going to cooperate with the uprising. But it all depends on the methods of pressure on the accused, that than the investigative authorities, no less seeking to advance, would use. Fabricate a case, "disclose" it, Admiral will go before a tribunal, and after it, you see, Tarkin will fall too.

"Of course, we will send a commission of inquiry to the Maw", Grand Moff sourly promised, thinking about how to negotiate with the commission, to get Daala and her men out of scrapes clean and innocent as a baby's butt, in order that he, Tarkin, wasn't dragged behind them to the bottom.

Irek insisted,

"A commission to the Maw is sure thing. But I demand that you call here, to the Death Star, the main defendants in the case - Admiral Daala and engineer Xux. Everyone else just carried out Daala's order, hardly being thoroughly let into current affairs."

When Death Star has returned to the orbit of Despayre, whispers came among the station staff that the governor's mistress arrived here again. Cantinas, saloons and barracks were full of rumors. The officers openly hated Daala. If she hadn't existed, every one of them would have moved up a notch. Even the rank and file in the positions publicly discussed Tarkin and freckled Admiral's affair.

Firstly, Tarkin scolded Daala for the choice of ship: there was no point, he said, to withdraw the whole ISD from the Maw. Daala listened to, not arguing with the command. The last time she took a small shuttle, caught in the epicenter of a firefight with rebels. Admiral was carried into intensive care with a broken head. And her lover didn't even bother to visit her in the hospital.

Apparently, Tarkin knew what made her tick at this time, took pity and showed the jolly senatorial video to Daala. Funniest news of the last year - how Moff powers got expanded because Mothma managed to smuggle a basket of rotten eggs into the Senate.

And Daala brought video protocol of Xux' interrogation for Irek.

"Even those crumbs of official information that reach the common people, are enough for the person who is capable of analyzing the facts, to ask a question: are there the rebels? Armed attacks and sabotage we are told about – aren't they organized by order of our own authority, to be able to launder huge sums of budget money spent for military. How else can you explain the impotence of the authorities? Why our most powerful machine shows a grotesque helplessness and folds, like the authorities don't want to crush the rebellion like a pimple on the body of the Empire? Where do the so-called rebels get extremely accurate information about the location and defense of our strategically important facilities, and why such an incredible good luck? And finally, from where they have money? Take at least a symbol of the rebellion, T65 X-wing, the most perfect of all existing models of the fighter. How come that the government broke the contract with the Incom Corporation, allowing it to carry out orders of the rebel leadership, why in our databases is no information about the construction of Incom products? Why do they allow them to continue arming the rebels, and most importantly - who financed the production of weapons?"

Daala again experienced the same feelings as when she was listening to Xux' conclusions, fearlessly, with most possible comfort sitting on a lie detector chair, hung over with sensors. What if she is right, but Daala is cheated by the command and if the command itself in the person of Tarkin is deceived - or made aware of? Gaunt, with sunken cheeks, governor's face expressed only disgust.

"Wimp. Trying to be clever, uninformed cornball, who imagines herself entitled to draw conclusions not supported by facts. However, she is reliably isolated." Tarkin realized, why Xux was in the anti-government mood - seven years ago, she stood beside him at the OIFEC window and watched Moff having fun, from the orbit laser-burning cities on her native Omwat.

Irek watched the interrogation protocol and remained in indignant amazement.

"How is it - no rebels!"

"But now, Your Highness, a question rises before us, did you really see Dr. Xux or not."

Irek blushed.

"It's hard to say... I know what you think of me... What I am abnormal", he choked out with an effort. "When my father went to the races on Corellia... I know you are not allowed to contact with the outside world", he interrupted himself, referring to Daala, "you don't watch news. My father was invited to the biggest rally of the galaxy, he took me with him..."

Admiral nodded, not understanding why Irek began to talk about it. The bastard prince went on,

"We drive to the field and along the road the dead stand with lightsabers!"

"Poor boy", Daala whispered. "Two trepanations."

"Hem", Tarkin only said. He remembered the report, these races were six months ago. It would seem that the aged head of the state should have immediately rejected the invitation, but organizers knew whom to invite: they dug up from the dusty annals, that sovereign, when he was young, seven times won the race for the championship of Naboo. So that his Majesty remembered his youth, and flew.

He was driving to the gate of the vast field, on the most elaborate pod, and not in the mantle of a statesman, but in simple racing jacket and pants tucked into boots. Behind him, clutching his dad, the heir sat. Guards' pods were following. Above the droids with holo cameras were hovering. Swirl of dust was in the air.

And along the road a black man, an Iktotchi, a Zabrak and a Nautolan were standing, holding ghostly lightsabers in the post-mortem salute. Ave, Caesar...

To an ovation of crowd of racers and spectators Palpatine traveled around the stadium, climbed onto the stage without his cane and soapboxed about rapture of racing, and Irek, who was entrusted to the care of the guards, turning his head, looked at cars and spectacular riders' outfits - humans and not. And his father sat in the VIP-sector of the stadium, surrounded by hordes of security and protective field that separated them from the common people. Irek looked at pods, preparing for start – the announcer read names and numbers of participants, but the ghosts did not come out of his head. Father was not up to him and he was afraid to admit that he had hallucinations and to hear in reply that he is mad, and then receive treatment with injections of psychotropic drugs.

X X X

Daala was fiercely thrashing the punching bag. Hair plastered to her forehead, camo T-shirt was wet. The dojo door opened - she turned around, realizing that it mustn't be elderly Tarkin or fat Motti, perhaps someone from their deputies? Daala has seen a very comfortable trainer in the governor's quarters: you sit down and electromyoclonic impulses come into the right muscle group, creating the desired effect, and there is no need to sweat in the gym. Everything acquired, whom finances allow to. And the gym, designed for decision-makers, is empty.

A petite brunette with a pretty and evil face entered, meowed in greeting:

"Daala..."

Gallant soldier put her boxing-gloved hands on her hips and, slightly narrowing her eyes, nodded. Here she is, the mother of a handsome boy who has been made a guinea. Daala's blood began to boil. When she first saw Roganda in Palpatine's retinue, she was about 17, and it turns out, she had already had a child back then, a reminder of Daala's incurable infertility.

While Daala was slowly taking off her gloves, Roganda perched on an exercise bike, adjusted it for herself. Admiral approached, took on the rings, hanging above, bent forward, her eyes fixed on Palpatine's favorite. Roganda squinted: Daala isn't at work. She serves in Maw, in similar wilderness like C'baoth, who once taught her to use the Force, then Irek was born, and she was not up to training, and the patron entrusted C'baoth with a new job - at Wayland. Had Tarkin called her to have fun? This careerist must suffer from the place and conditions of her work. To serve on the Death Star is far more prestigious. She must have thought up a scheme to get rid of Motti. It will be interesting to see how Daala implements her plans.

"Two admirals at one Death Star? Is Motti given a new appointment, and Tarkin moved you on his place? That is, we will soon say goodbye to the fatty."

"As far as I know, no", irritation burst through Daala's deliberate restraint. "I serve in the Maw, in the moment I'm on leave warrant."

"You must be bored", Roganda put her elbows on the steering wheel and rested her chin on her fists. "You, military officer, were exiled to a remote place, away from the front. Tarkin really cares for you - or keeps fleet from you?" the favorite giggled, at once dropping thoughtful, sympathetic tone. Daala blushed. She was clearly given to understand that Governor pinned admiral's insignia to her only to amuse her feelings, but, knowing her insolvency, doesn't trust her as an officer. Gossip spreads quickly - that Admiral Daala's skills allegedly don't extend beyond the bed.

"And how you're on Death Star?", toothy smiling, Daala drawled. "It's all so dull and gray. No the court parties, no beauty salon", Daala invested deadly dose of sugar in the last word: to inject as much in Roganda's veins - the heart would be immediately stopped.

"Irek studies it", favorite easily responded. "I decided to accompany him, we haven't seen each other so long, while he was with you in the Maw. You have no children, do you?"

"No."

"What a pity. And it's too late for you. That's why you spend your vacation in this dull and gray battle station, rather than fly to your home planet, where no family is waiting for you, and this is understandable - what husband would wait for you?"

"Oh, dear, I find it easier in this regard - but you have left your beloved man on Coruscant, how aren't you afraid that he won't wait for you?"

At each poison arrow Daala was spitting fire, and this time Roganda didn't know how to attack, forcing Admiral to defend. Roganda had to hunker down.

"He is so busy that he simply has neither time nor energy nor an inclination to look around", she said with a cheerful confidence, but inside all has shrunk into a tight, cool knot: Daala wasn't aware of the woman in the red, but how right she was.

"You don't say so, dear. Job is job, but lonely nights..."

"Of course, dear, lonely nights are so painfully familiar to you."

Daala briefly laughed and Roganda thought for a moment – are they really lonely? Admiral has a whole garrison in the Maw, male harem, and Roganda was seared with a flash of envy.

"Roganda, but you said that you yearned for Irek - but, meanwhile, left him somewhere outside the gym. Where is your lovely little boy?"

"Well, we picked a mentor for him, a certain Keldor, here at the station, once vaunted security service of Maw Installation was not able to ensure Magrody's safety."

"And I still don't understand", out of place, Daala exclaimed. "Loaded with money. You should shake your diamonds on Coruscant. Why to hang out in space like a piece of shit in the ice-hole?"

Daala managed to utter rudeness in quite inoffensive, natural tone. But the pointless cracking back with idle money-bag already stuck in her craw, and with this latest attack Daala took off to the shower.

X X X

Desperately envying Grand Moff, Irek decided to kill his joy, and demanded Daala to take him with his mother to Coruscant.

Tarkin said, "Does she have nothing to do?" And "What, there is nobody but her?" - But, of course, in a milder form.

"And the last time when my father went to his Naboo retreat, Admiral Thrawn escorted him", Irek snapped. "Governor, you've just said that I'm a shabby hobo?"

Crown Prince's vagaries were insatiable. He demanded such a contingent of naval ships as an escort, as if he was at least going to conquer a new sector.

"Due to my status I should travel on a Super Star Destroyer!"

Tarkin just shrugged his shoulders. Still there was no required asset on Death Star.

"I've never been to Coruscant", Daala said.

"I was in the Admiralty, and you didn't!" Irek smiled, sharp-toothed, but decided not to show her his tongue. He removed his feet from the armrest, jumped from his chair, walked over to Daala, and vengefully jabbed his finger into her chest, "I would arrange a tour for you, but you don't deserve! You didn't bring me Qwi!"

Daala sighed.

"Qwi is not a thing. Qwi is adult and should work."


	7. Furies

**Chapter 7 - Furies**

Double agent Mara Jade, by whose efforts an unheard-of ambitious and daring Rebel operation was thwarted - and with what efforts she managed to convince the Alliance that there was no her fault in this! - passed a valuable information to the rebel headquarters. Intelligence bunker Lusankya, in the darkest torture chambers of which captured rebels were brainwashed and sent back as the "sleeping agents", in fact is not a many kilometers network of catacombs, but a Super Star Destroyer. In those dark torture chambers of Lusankya Leia was placed, apparently, to be subjected to the same procedure.

Mara leaked the location of the entrances to the tunnels leading to Lusankya, access codes, and then informed her patroness, that insidious insurgents are preparing a response to the explosion of Alderaan.

Strike force fighters were delivered to Coruscant on several smuggling vessels, weapon – on others. Responsible for the event, experienced smugglers handed out bribes. Thugs, declared wanted in several systems, have got new clear documents made on equipment simulating the multi-layered defense of this imperial identity. Weaponry importation was drawn up as a legal order. In short, a lot of people have been involved in the preparation.

Isard was looking forward how her men make short work of the invaders' shock detachment, and Lusankya punishment cells will be augmented with a new portion of the prisoners.

No such luck. Underground boarding didn't go so, as the provoker has conceived. The rebels seized Lusankya. Isard was dragged out of her office and shall remain in solitary confinement. Droids and rebel slicers picked codes for electronic locks. The prisoners, running out, helped the armed terrorists tie guards and, kicking, forced them to take away corpses.

Preliminary calculations showed that the strong SSD housing survives, but the ground cracks and buildings collapse, when the engines will be activated and Lusankya will break her way out.

An earthquake began. Battered, but not depressurized Lusankya was stormed by calls from the planet. Jade, who was sitting in the broadcasting center captured by rebels, would refer to Madame Isard's order and assured that all is agreed with his Majesty the Emperor, but figuring out that it is not so took very little time.

Freeing the ship from under the ground, the terrorists hoped to shatter the government's skyscraper, laughing at the narrowness of gaplessly built-up Coruscant, where offices of all major departments, including the Monarch's, were concentrated in one building.

Lusankya wasn't fully alert underground, because no one was going to fly it in the near future. Power was minimal - not enough energy to maintain simultaneous operation of all its guns and shields. In other words, if you implement guns - shields die, and engines won't last long. When the rebels, taking control, have found a lack of energy, it was too late, and, having quickly consulted, the occupants decided to divert Lusankya into hyperspace. No one was eager to ram at the Imperial Palace and destroy the top leadership of the galaxy at the cost of their own lives.

But escape was not so easy. Failed invaders, being fired at from air and from surface, have only strengthened the shields as much as possible, and showed jets to Coruscant. There was nowhere to turn, the sky over the planet was swarmed with cargo and passenger ships. Shuddering under the turbolaser blows that slashed her powerful hulk from all sides, Lusankya swept over the pillars of smoke over the ruins of fallen skyscrapers. They fired carefully, trying to damage only the engines, in order to tow the hulk to the port - Lusankya hadn't to fall on the city.

Ysanne Isard warmed a bunk. Locks were not an obstacle to her - all the doors on Lusankya were fitted with bio scanners, identifying the mistress. But at the door of her torture chamber two jockstraps were on duty, and Isard didn't try to get out...

...Until the gunfire was heard from the outside, and two imperial stormtroopers brought her out. Slight, but palpable vibration said to Ysanne that the ship was being attacked, and while there was a fight, Isard was listening with bated breath. Guns fell silent, the docking started, Lusankya accepted troopers on board. Skirmish and running all over the ship began. Sight of Imperials, who, as a result, came for her, instilled new worries in her soul. However, the truth that capture of Lusankya was triggered by the very Intelligence Director, was known only to herself and Mara Jade, the rebel contact.

Isard was taken to her own office, where, at her desk, in her chair, a servicewoman sat, chestnut braid, slung over her shoulder onto the magnificent breasts. At the sight of insignia on her tunic, Isard's eyebrows involuntarily went up. Throughout the Imperial Navy, only one woman rose to the rank of Admiral, and she was supposed to be in parsecs away. The servicewoman raised her eyes from the printouts of files from the ship's database.

"Admiral Daala", she introduced herself.

Isard glanced out in the window, at ruins and the smoke of fires. At torn Lusankya docking bay babe Gorgon was hanging.

"How have you got here?" Isard asked. "What's happened to the Maw Installation?"

"I escort Mr. Ismaren from the Death Star. According to his personal request. Indeed, it appears that here, in the capital, you can't fly without decent escort. The rebels have captured a SSD..." Admiral twisted a corner of her mouth and shook her head, marveling at the impotence of the capital defense fleet, taken by surprise by terrorists' outburst. "We have tried to contact your vessel. No answer. Sent the broadband signal and asked what is going on here. On the ground they say not to shoot, to follow our course, we can't knock down the SSD over the city... They were willing to release terrorists into hyperspace! Nothing remained for me but to board her."

"The initiative is punishable", Isard said. "You weren't authorized to get into a fight. You have won Lusankya by pure chance and incredible luck. You were instructed to never budge from Maw. You left the protected object, went to the Death Star, then to Coruscant, deciding to explore the galaxy at government expense and on a warship entrusted to you to protect the station. You'll be demoted, sweetheart. Demoted to the ranks."

"You'd better think that you'll be busted", Daala parried. "How did you let a leak of information about the true essence of your bunker and failed to provide sufficient security? As a result, you were taken hostage on your own ship, caused catastrophic damage in the capital."

On her place I would have stolen a ship and fled. Unless, of course, managed to escape into hyperspace from bombarded Lusankya. Most likely to Unknown Regions, Daala thought with a wry smile, estimating her motley-eyed counterpart's chances to remain incognito on some backwater planet.

But Isard, who couldn't pilot a ship, hissed, staring down at Daala with her different eyes,

"I strongly recommend that you, the last day Admiral Daala, return the ship under my command. In return, I will allow you to take a single fighter with a hyperdrive and escape in any direction you want. You understand that now even your close friendship with the Governor Tarkin will not help you. I don't think that he, risking his own career, rushes to defend you from the Emperor's wrath. They will score up that Tarkin made you an Admiral willfully, for love, not according to your non-existing military achievements, but thanks to your heroic deeds in the field of bed gymnastics. After all, you were not even introduced to the Emperor, weren't at court, not a single day, and for the first time decided to visit the capital just now, AWOL, when you got obsessed with curiosity. Set my quarters free."

Daala pressed the selector button,

"Iotos, send here an escort for Madame Isard to the prison block."

"Yes, ma'am", came a voice on the intercom.

"To arrest me?" Isard's blood boiled, and she heartily gave Daala a slap on the cheek.

Stormtroopers barely separated fighting ladies, regretting that they have no right to calm the two bosses with stunning blaster shot. When the furies were finally dragged away from each other, blood was dripping from Isard's broken nose, while Daala's right eye rapidly swelled. Limping (Daala kicked her in the knee), Intelligence chief snuffled off back to the cell with her escort.

MD-5 applied ice to the considerable bruise on Admiral's cheek. Daala ordered to make a request to land and to report on the return of the Super Star Destroyer to Imperial space forces.

Where Lusankya had escaped from under the ground, toiled rescuers, meddroids, firemen; hard workers dragged the wreckage, victims were transported to hospitals, people had to be settled somewhere.

Isard was sent home, but she rushed to the highest office of the Government skyscraper. In response to recent events at Palpatine's work was a crunch time, but restless Ysanne fought her way to the office, red, as sarlacc's stomach.

"Godfather!" She whimpered at the door - all in bruises and dry blood.

"What's the war paint?" Palpatine wasn't impressed. "Ysanne, wash yourself."

"It's indelible! This war paint is applied by Daala's fists and nails."

"It's not proper to demonstrate your weakness. How did you let this? Where is your martial arts skills you told me about? Master of sports, and suddenly let to lunge at you, take you by surprise?"

"You are cruel! You know, I was depressed, demoralized, and she beat me, jeered that I was captured..."

"I refuse to believe you would not fight back."

"Of course, I bunged her eye."

"Well, you see, everything's not so bad. Now come on, baby, don't distract me from work."

Isard turned to the exit, and then Palpatine raised his hands in a characteristic gesture, and bestowed two little lightning bolts in each her buttock. Isard swayed and, knocking over, grabbed a massive rack, filled up with folders. The cabinet threateningly shook, but stood. Isard - too. She shifted her multicolored gaze, full of horror, to the all-powerful boss. He'll dismiss her, as Daala has prophesied?

"Go work."

"Y-yes, sire."

Isard left the room and wearily made her way to the elevator, almost bumping into scurrying bureaucrats with folders and vigil guards. Beside the fact that Palpatine was her godfather, she tried to strengthen relationship with him and impose to him as a lover. If even to have an affair, then with the right person. With someone higher than you. But Isard was not a born actress, and attempts to pretend being smitten with him turned out awkward. She noticed that he was critical of her antics. And now too. Hence, in Palpatine's eyes she is feeble, feisty, frail, and can't do anything herself. But let him better think so, than he suspects that the capture of Lusankya was triggered by her. She felt that she won't be able to sit for a whole week.

Daala was given an admonition and awarded a commendation at the same time. The army was engaged in cleaning the debris, including Daala's troops, swarmed in the middle of the ruins along with proles, rescuers, medical teams and construction droids. Irek, who had admiringly watched the Lusankya boarding, conducted by Daala with pinpoint accuracy, asked his dad whether he met her personally. But his response was, "With each passer-by?.. It's not a revolving door here. "

X X X

Upon returning to Coruscant Mr. Trepanation told himself, "I let her down, I must keep at least the last promise." He placed an ad in holonet:

"HRD for sale. Female programming, height 156 cm. Manufacturer's Price - 9000000 Imperial credits."

He added a hologram of Roganda's twin - but never got any message from the buyers. Who would need it?

Irek then attempted to sell DB-3765. The maid has served Roganda for ten years since Palpatine had bought her for the rustic eleven-year-old Jedi, who didn't tell eye shadows from lip gloss back then. DB's responsibilities included not only care for the Emperor's mistress' looks and dresses, but also to inculcate her decent manners: not to scratch herself, not to lean back in chair, sitting up, not to stick her feet out from shoes - and a switch from convenient Jedi boots to fine shoes turned oh how difficult. DB put an encyclopedia on Roganda's head and forced her to walk on high heels, so that the book should not fall. But DB, despite the fact that she was a Luxury class droid, cost only 25 thousand.

A buyer for DB was found, but agreed to pay only one-eighth of the original price. But Palpatine's security service wasn't dozing. Calls were tapped. Once Irek crossed the threshold with the droid – dad's guards immediately seized his miracle of technology and dwelled the Prince back.

So Xux didn't receive money. However, she didn't hope to.

X X X

Investigation was bogged down. Isard and Jade assured in unison that they had no clue how the rebels had discovered the true essence of Intelligence bunker, the location of service entrance and access codes, and all the other surviving Lusankya crew members really had no idea. As for the captured unfortunate invaders, they were just perpetrators and also couldn't shed light. In general, Isard's idea "to catch more rebels" succeeded, although it was clear that Daala had managed to capture Lusankya only due to lack of energy to complete the work of guns and shields, and that Daala was there by chance. And the loss and destruction on Coruscant, happened by fault of II Director, didn't go to any comparison with their capture.

X X X

Renovation work on the devastated Coruscant was conducted at an accelerated pace, and the survivors were resettled in new apartments, bought with the budget funds. Here and there donations receiving centers were opened on Coruscant, and the townspeople were carrying their second-hand there. When the first three square kilometers were cleared, the next cloudy day in a vacant lot, surfaced on the place, where houses had collapsed in the pit, memorial service and wreath-laying ceremony were held. Bureaucrats and commoners, all in black, stood with lit candles, the ranks of soldiery at attention around, the orchestra hooted a mournful melody. Musty spirit of hatred hung above the crowd, in the echoing silence swept mournful cries and grim promises to respond adequately to terrorists – in officials' speeches. From the frozen crowd women's sobbing could be heard.

Upon returning to the palace Palpatine felt bad, and Isard and Jade jumped out of nowhere, hooked Emperor's arms in theirs and put him in an armchair some lackey has hastily brought. Isard slipped a cushion under the most august bottom. Bureaucrats from the Ruling Council gathered around with strained-anxious faces, hoping that the gaffer wouldn't rise again. A lackey called a medic. Guarantor of the Constitution hung his head, his hood obscured him the view - mocking, mischievous Ysanne's face and Mara's blunt-loyal expression.

Roganda watched with undisguised horror. Mourning dress, designed to emphasize her sexuality wasn't vanquished by grief, consisted of two tiny breast cups, a long skirt was attached to a vertical flap, knotted around the neck, like a tie. Elbow-long gloves completed the outfit, tiny hattock with a veil on her head - Daala didn't had time to think how old-fashioned was the headpiece – looking closer, she realized that there was no hat, no veil, all this was a construction from her own hair.

"Look out, they'll steal him", sneaking up from behind, she whispered, laying a heavy hand on Roganda's bare shoulder. Half-naked miracle turned, looked from under the veil, woven from her own hair.

"Indecent dress."

"I am a lewd woman", Roganda darkly echoed.

"To use and ditch."

"Have you got any other clothes, except the uniform?"

"Why!"

"But you should! I saw you in the news. If you had come to the fight without a uniform, nobody would recognize you. And you were filmed and presented almost as a deserter."

"Forgetting to mention that I've flown as much as to another hemisphere - when there is day, here is night. For the first time allowed myself to be away, out of hours..."

"Because you had to come in civvies", Roganda repeated. "We could go shopping to my favorite boutiques."

"I don't need."

"You have 180,000 men under your command in the Maw!"

"Irek gave you an underestimated number", Daala smiled briefly, wryly, "this is just the military. Plus the scientific community."

"Well! Your men will love it!"

"I cannot, Roganda, go to boutiques", Daala didn't explain why she had no lover in the Maw. "I diced away my money. I bet on Brusque."

"Why? The news said that Carter hasn't lost even a single battle, but it was Brusque's first match after two years of hard drinking and voracity!"

"I liked this black hunk from Haruun Kal. But the white..." Daala disdainfully shrugged her shoulders.

"Oh, it's dangerous to be someone you like! Poor man is in intensive care! Sorry that you weren't able to meet him!"

"I didn't know you watch sports news."

"My men do."

"Imagine, and I shut up with our male team, that I supported Brusque and bet on him. Talk to you! Because, Roganda, the crowd always roots for winners. Before the victory, crowd doesn't care..."

Daala noticed that Roganda continued to monitor the sculpture of "The Old Man and two Pullets" - and stopped. Found someone to discuss Coruscant boxing championship!.. Roganda's sugary face tensed and froze, hands clenched into fists, almost black lips curled in a sombre arc, rouge unhealthily blushed on her pale cheeks. She must appear in public in a spick-and-span new dress, and the new was just that. Because right now a high fashion week should have been, which was canceled due to terrorist attack. Roganda was assured that her flyer would be valid. Palpatine told the scantily clad marvel to stay away from him at the rally, and not in the front row.

"They'll steal your cutie", Daala repeated. "Pull in your neck."

Daala laughed after her, and Roganda began to push through the dense rows of uselessly obliging bureaucrats and security guards.

Doctors reduced Palpatine's jumped blood pressure, and he even appeared in the evening at a charity cocktail party Isard has arranged,

"Let's celebrate, gentlemen, that we are safe!"

Gentlemen circulated in the restaurant hall with glasses, on stage jugglers spinned torches and burning hoops. Journalists haven't been admitted to mile: media shouldn't tomorrow break out stories about bosses' orgy on the bones.

Mara made the round among the guests with a helmet,

"Contribute to victims medical care... Procurator, make a contribution! I'll give the whole sum to municipal hospitals."

Hethrir takes out a large denomination and throws in Mara's helmet.

"Thank you, Procurator. Vizier, make a noble gesture, reach a helping hand to your fellow citizens who have lost all property and health..."

Ars Dangor takes off his awfully expensive watch and drops in the helmet's gaping jaw.

"Thanks, Vizier. Lord Vandron, I am collecting donations for the victims treatment..."

COMPNOR Chief writes out a check.

"Thank you very much, Lord Vandron. Madame Admiral now, pitch in how much you can..."

"I don't have money, girl. I'm on duty, not in the shop", Daala slashed.

Mara snapped her teeth, but at once threw a dazzling smile to another dignitary, whom she could rob:

"High Inquisitor, your freewill offering..."

Tremayne gives a wallet to the bleeder.

It is better to fly around the ruins and control debris cleaning, Daala thought, than to cross the threshold of the Admiralty - or to stand here among Coruscant superiors. Daala didn't know anybody - and seemed to be known to everyone, and in the corridors of the Admiralty a tail of withering looks and biting grins swept after her - and eternal refrain:

"Tarkin... slept with someone who could promote her, and... Incompetent... hid her away from civilization, so as she wouldn't screw up... She had a fight with Isard... Heh-heh-heh..."

And even more trenchant:

"Crossdresser! Hermaphrodite! Tranny!"

Ears and cheeks blazed around the clock. Here and now - a few bosses greeted Daala, introduced, told they heard about her accomplishments - and she still stood alone at a table, sipping wine and pulling snacks from plates - and attracting glances, fleeting, ironic, angry, whipping, as hundreds of slaps. Military bearing, rapid broad step, olive-gray tunic, breeches tucked into boots, braid thrown over the shoulder - and other ladies in the clouds of lace and gleaming jewels. However, not she alone was cutting eyes of Coruscant beau monde: on the other end of the table, two feet above the floor, the dais of another honored guest was floating, who, after the adoption of a new Tax Code, came to the capital to beat out tax preferences for his gaming business. Fragile snacks from tiny plates were flying non-stop into the insatiable jaws, twelve chins fluttered, loud chomping and smacking resounded around. The waiter handed a huge cup of wine to the reclining lard-bucket, the fatso drained it in one gulp, hiccupped and swerved his meaty tail, on which Salacious was beginning to climb in an attempt to reach out to the table.

"How deplorable is this all", Jabba buzzed, and his companion did not doubt the sincerity of Hutt's sorrow - one of the casino he owned died under the rubble. To Xizor himself, this dandy of criminal business, seemed in this moment that it was better to lose a profitable institution than to stand an extra minute next to the ignorant provincial.

Mistress of the celebration in the orange dress was holding the sovereign's arm - he wore a winy-red gown, like two flames. Daala shook her head - where is his official ladylove? - and found Roganda, who seemed just a child next to a hefty cutthroat Jeng Droga. Mara rushed headlong to the Dark Jedi:

"Jeng, give money!"

The Jedi meekly reached for his wallet. Seeing that under a holster dress, an avalanche of rustling feathers at the hem, even very tiny purse couldn't be hidden, Mara took her bearings,

"Roganda, give your jewelry!"

"I can't. This is state property. From State Values Depository. I just hired..."

Mara frowned, brightly painted lips involuntarily clenched into a thread, but a latecomer appeared in the doorway of the hall - and, flashing a radiant smile, the beggar lunged across his path, holding out her helmet,

"Grand Admiral! I'm collecting donations for charitable aid to victims..."

Ysalamiri twisted on Admiral's shoulder and bit Mara's nose. Blood appeared. While Mara was looking for a handkerchief, wiping the blood and examining the wound in the mirror, Thrawn changed direction and, dodging among the guests, went to pay his respects to the Emperor and Madame Isard.

Jugglers on the stage were replaced by trapeze artists, lyrical music flowed. Palpatine glanced at the acrobats with quite an interest, but Mara grew up before him and reached the helmet,

"Your Majesty, hand over the money!"

Palpatine grinned. His mocking eyes without a word said everything to Mara. She weighed a slight bow,

"Excuse me for troubling you, sire!" And, bearing the helmet in front of her, rushed to the double-dyed Hutt.

"Mr. Jabba, hand over the money!"

"OHOHOHOH! That's audacity, that I like...", Hutt's plump little hand ruffled Mara's hair. "Ah op-pa..." Tatooine mafioso took the control panel, and Hutt's dais floated to Palpatine. The guests made way.

"Sire", thundered Hutt's throat, "give me this woman."

"Easy!" Sith cynically laughed. "When do you leave Coruscant?"

"Tonight."

Slightly narrowing his eyes, Palpatine nodded.

Tonight Kinman Doriana gave Mara the order to accompany Mr. Jabba, and Jade left to Tatooine. There she lived, making an add to his collection of humanoid dancers, till Luke Skywalker came to the Hutt's palace...

In the sidelines Advisor Quest and the Chief of the Red Guard Jax fumed. Advisor has already given Mara a ring, she said it wasn't enough, he gave the second, and the guardsman had parted with a purse. They were mockingly discussing if Mara's patroness really passes the revenue to the City Health Department - or pockets it, who will control?

"Nepotism, cronyism. She is invulnerable. She had grown into her chair – you won't tear off. And all because of that she is goddaughter of the Nabooian."

"Don't say that! He is old and wise, he couldn't hold in his position for so many years, if he hadn't computed all the options. He won't keep the incompetent loser in such a responsible position - just for the fact that she was in his boudoir a couple of times! Carnor, nepotism! Didn't he order the very father of his goddaughter to shoot himself, and a slip Armand had made is not so much as what his daughter did a few days ago?"

Thickly powdered, rouged, with eye shadows up to her eyebrows, Isard was bustling around the godfather - passed over tissues, removed, brushed an invisible crumb from the mantle, served plates and glasses with the comically-obliging clumsiness.

"Like the painted face mask. Doesn't suit her", Roganda's voice rang silver bells.

"Her bruising is still seen under masses of make-up", summed Jeng.

Just at that moment, enemies of cronyism came up to the Jedi.

"Weird that they didn't dispose of her on place. And blows were so sparing, even the nose isn't broken, teeth aren't knocked out - although she would have had time to insert the teeth", sounded from under Carnor Jax's red helmet.

"It's not the rebels, good man", Quest grunted. "This is Admiral Daala has decorated her."

Everyone stared at Admiral Daala, and heard from somewhere - Hethrir was telling Kadann:

"And I thought Daala was a tranny. At the rally, and now I look, personally, so to speak - born a woman, just rough facial features, rather mannish, but for sure - a woman."

Daala shuddered. Earlier no one doubted that she was a woman until she has undergone rhinoplasty. And then all hell broke loose: Commodore Daala went under the knife to change her sex! And what Commodore's long nose reduced in size - no one noticed.

Need to do something, not to hear the gossip.

Daala crept back to the Thrawn and pulled his cigarettes from his back pocket. He whirled. Virago, the one that yelled at the rally: "We will destroy, we conquer, we smash!" - and about whom it was said that her soldiers, catching looters in the ruins, made short work of them on the spot. Ostensibly Admiral said that such rabble doesn't deserve a dark cell and a wish-wash bowl. Holster is on the left, not by statute. How the local bouncers let her in with a gun.

Daala grinned widely and touched her cap with two fingers.

"Young man, this is not your cigarettes fell out?"

"Yes", muttered not so young and not quite a human, holding out a hand for the pack.

"Regale the lady with a cigarette!"

He handed her a pack. Daala pulled one cigarette and winked,

"Have you got a lighter?"

Thrawn gave her. Daala continued,

"Come, dance with me..."

"As you wish", Thrawn shrugged.

Nobody was dancing - no surprise that many stared at embracing couple flailing around, who were already the most notorious representatives of Imperial military.

"You have a pleasant cologne smell", Daala was grinning, closely hugging Thrawn und squeezing her lush breasts up to him, "you know, very sexy. You yourself are so sexy!"

Thrawn didn't mind.

Daala got quickly drunk for want of habit and asked,

"Take me home? You know, I trust your… uniform... you... And I'll give you a glass of tea for..."

"Where do you live?" Thrawn asked.

"On my ISD."

She could call a subordinate on operational vehicle, Thrawn thought. Daala clutched at his hand and unsteadily left the restaurant.

Thrawn took her to the military unit, climbed with her aboard Gorgon, standing in the hangar, Daala brought him to her quarters. It did not come to tea: Daala pushed Thrawn into her quarters, leaned over with entire body and kissed him hungrily, and he choked on Daala's tongue, stumbling backwards on the laid bed. Daala immediately straddled him, threw off his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, while Thrawn caught his breath and had time to utter:

"I don't have a cond..."

"I'm safe", Daala announced, dashing her partner's last chance for salvation. Thrawn wanted to invent himself some horrifying disease. Here Daala removed her falsie bra and appeared as flat-chested as Thrawn himself. It was too late to refuse, but Thrawn was disgusted with her fingers with nails shorn to meat and thickened joints, her arms, shoulders, chest and hips strewn with freckles, and abundant red crop suggested that the lady obviously didn't expect to be exposed, spontaneously hooking up a gentleman. Thrawn was so long and carefully hanging his clothes, hand-ironed crease on his pants, putting shoes toe to toe, that Daala, leaning over the bed edge and nearly losing her balance, reached out and painfully pinched his blue ass. Thrawn reluctantly turned around, bed creaked under the double weight, he dropped to his knees and settled between spread pale freckled legs. In half a minute of dull rocking Daala spat out,

"Grand Admiral, you have such a face as if you aren't making love, but burying your favorite ysalamiri!"

Blue sprout softened and fell out.

In the morning Daala woke up first, because ysalamiri, freely sprawled between her and Thrawn, quietly growling in his sleep and jerking his clawed paws, almost pushed her down on the floor. She visited the bathroom, combed and braided her hair - Thrawn slept, face to the wall. Daala toured to the closet, pulled out a white tunic, tried it on – but then she froze with his cap above her head and his belt in her other hand: in the mirror behind her loomed a blue face full of distasteful horror.

"Put aside, don't touch."

"I'm thinking, what can I do to deserve a white tunic."

"It's not women's business - to command the troops", Thrawn said and stretched his blue hands for his uniform. Adopting the dress, he overhauled his jacket, as if afraid that Daala has hopelessly mired it.

Daala didn't take an offense: she has many times heard this maxim from the others.

"Let's go have breakfast..."

X X X

And only Carnor Jax was glad. He wondered, why the Hutt would need Mara? Perhaps a fresh human flesh is considered a delicacy in Hutt diet? "Madame Director lost at least something after her disgrace. Not enough, of course. But the goddaughter seems so dear to the Nabooian, dear beyond all reason!"

Lack of coordination outraged Carnor, when the woman, known under the pseudonym Mara Jade, fought her way to Pestage's residence, killing one of the guards. "My guys would just step aside, if we were warned that we should... and we couldn't bring her to justice, because she was Isard's personal Jedi, and lord Sidious just waved his hand. This is the same as when we had to skip Starkiller because he was a Vader's man."


	8. Korriban

Chapter 8 – Korriban

The shuttle ascended on stony ground, without a single stunted blade of grass, wind-whipped plateau in a narrow valley between the towering gray hulk of tombs. Fifty stormtroopers, balance step, lined the living corridor, and the Emperor, picking up the hem of his cloak, went down the ramp. Irek jumped on the shriveled ground, threw his head back to the crunch in the neck, but couldn't find the top of tombs skillfully carved from everlasting stone with bas-reliefs depicting ancient battles. High in the gray, overcast sky, vultures were circling - black spots of endless twilight, unceasing chilly wind, howling, burst into the valley, and in the groaning of wind the Force hummed warnings of spirits of the forefathers resting in the local crypts: long agony is waiting for the thief who dares to disturb the dead, and his bones will decay on flagstones, powdered with dust. Screams of marauders tortured by ghosts sounded in his ears, shadows darted before his eyes, wind knocked down.

Splashing in a puddle, the procession daddled to the nearest vault, long time circling in search of entrance, and finally stepped into the cold, in the musty darkness, along the hollow slabs of Tulak Hord's monumental tomb.

Palpatine said the foreman to wait here, and stormtroopers froze, watching the old man in waving black cloak and a figure of the child, until they disappeared into the tomb's throat.

In the shadows of the hall a pedestal stood out, freaked with Sith hieroglyphs, once it was a column from a single crystal - now small pieces were left of it. There was less dust than Irek had thought – because of the lack of industrial enterprises: on Korriban there was only one mining town, and in hours and hours of flight from the Valley of Tombs. The stone statues of harsh warriors of Force were towering around. A blow of dreary horror swept in the vault. From the haze dead eyes were following him - Irek felt the presence of two who wished to remain invisible. His head was swimming. Sticky black tentacles rummaged in his brain, penetrating into the deepest corners of consciousness. As if were figuring out: "Ours or Jedi?" He probed gloom with his eyes - but no, the ghosts won't show up, only stone statues stared at him with wall-eyes carved in a monolithic block. Decided not to touch – it's not looters. The sarcophagus of the deceased, of course, was hidden in the basement, and to get to it, they needed to cross a set of labyrinths with traps.

The decrease of the shuttle was tracked in the new Rebel base, and rebels couldn't believe their luck. Imperials don't know there is a base, confident that they have landed in the middle of a deserted rocky wasteland. In half an hour fighters growled above the Valley of the Tombs, from the air mowing off stromtroopers and lashing tombs and statues with laser. Thunder, clouds of dust, crumbling walls, fragments of stone spluttering in all directions. Ground trembled. When no soldiers were left, the rebels have landed and went to kill the shuttle crew manually - and the captain wanted to escape into hyperspace, hoping to fire off, but the ship didn't have time to rise into the air; after a brief massacre three volunteers began to drag out the corpses and to disembowel the contents of the royal quarters, even came to blows over the trophies split-up. The wounded, who required first aid, were left on the ship and the rest, without wasting time, rushed into the vault to search for the most august visitor.

Fight was excellent. Crimson lightsaber flared, beating blaster shots off into the walls and ceiling, stone grit poured, lightning blazed, and Irek managed to bring down with the Force a heaviest ledge, killing one gunner.

Rebels remaining outside sadly watched as went out the indicators, attached to comrades' helmets, who disappeared in the tomb. When the last one died, the commander decided to make funeral fireworks for brothers in arms, and Y-wings pelted the building. Shrine stood, but an avalanche of stone rubble buried all three entrances, buried the Emperor there.

"And if he's still alive?"

"We'll rot him there!"

And the brave pilots went to the base, taking a stolen Imperial shuttle along, and in their way informing associates that they had successfully eliminated the Emperor.

Palpatine was sitting on the floor, leaning against the wall, covered in dust and bruises from the stone spray. Blood was dripping down his face from a bruise on his forehead. The darkness of the dungeon was traced only with a ray of torch, that fell off a rebel's helmet, and the unsteady glow of crimson lightsaber, trembling in Irek's little hand. Biting his lips, the old Sith tightened his wound in his side, a sickening smell of burning flesh hung, only the sword buzz and his labored breathing were heard, and flashing red light slashed his face contorted with pain.

X X X

A graceful pink speeder flew to the military unit checkpoint. The fragile girl at the wheel and the sturdy passenger presented the Imperial special agents badges, and standby reluctantly let them in the unit.

Out of breath from running about the military unit and incessant questioning where to find the Admiral, Roganda and Jeng flew into the shooting gallery and begged Daala to go out and listen to them face to face.

Roganda started,

"We decided to ask you, because... because everyone else won't lift a finger without a written order, and you are known for your initiative."

Daala snorted and crossed her arms on her pointers.

"Do you want to implicate me in some kind of adventure? Well, I'm listening."

"Palpatine is wounded and is in a confined space. Irek… Irek's alive, and if he had suffered, I would have felt, I'm the mother... I know that he is afraid... I heard this, like a cry for help."

"As for Mr. Irek I cannot say, but the Emperor - yes, he fought and he was wounded, and he called us. I also felt it", Droga confirmed.

"Hah, your Jedi premonitions and insights - this is certainly not a reason to break away and rush in a boundless distance at your command... where he is, incidentally, the Force hasn't prompted you?"

"On Korriban", Jeng said without much confidence.

"Word!" Daala barked. "Force inspiration hasn't blessed you with clear information. Excellent. You are asking me to withdraw Gorgon from the base of and scour the entire Korriban?"

"His Majesty went on pilgrimage to the Sith graves, to worship holy places. According to the map, the Valley of Tombs can be seen from orbit."

"Let's assume. This narrows the search radius, if I believe in your words that there is His Majesty and he is wounded. And how I will explain this to my command? Two Jedi came to me, referred to their feelings, and I believed unproven information and ran? It'll be fun when we'll be withdrawn from Korriban and alive, healthy, returning homewards HIM asks why we'd careered the transport even to Esstran sector..."

Jeng scowled, ready to launch an inspirational speech about the Force-insensitive reinsurers, ignoring Jedi's valuable tips granted by the great Force. Roganda cast a warning glance at him. We shouldn't further squeeze the daffy adventurous careerist, who sat out of action for years, locked up, and took the duty to control soldiers cleaning the ruins as an insult to a combat officer. Daala is a compressed spring, and she needs only a push, and then she lashes out, sweeping away everything in her path.

Admiral stood staring out the window, painfully clenching her lips, black-gloved fingers twisted the tip of her ginger braid. White tunic or resignation, just not back to Maw.

"Well, patron has disappeared in an unknown direction, we can only speculate what happened to him, and the Force implies that he is in trouble - and my immediate boss, Grand Moff Tarkin, is busy on the Death Star... I believe I have the right to make independent decisions."

Daala ordered to prepare Gorgon for departure.

She jumped out of the hyperspace above Korriban, began a low orbit circling in search of the Valley of Tombs - and found the Rebel base. Daala was reported about the discovery, she glanced at the monitor and snorted,

"Surprise... The Rebels thought that hid securely, and suddenly - flies... And what it was a surprise for our..." She sharply grew gloomy and clasped her hands behind her back, gritting her black leather gloves.

ISD whopper hung over the base. But the Gorgon didn't hurry to pepper the buildings with laser or to release TIEs. A broadband signal dashed - Admiral Daala offered the rebels to surrender, promising to save their lives.

"Ma'am, do you think that the Emperor is taken prisoner on the base?" Kratas whispered, seeing no other explanation for Admiral's actions.

"And about it we should ask the Jedi. He is there?"

"There are no Force-sensitive people. The Emperor must be in the Valley of Tombs", Droga confidently declared. Roganda silently nodded.

Instead of replying the whole - or almost whole - squadron Korriban base possessed, soared up to meet the Gorgon. The rebels were ready to fight to the last man, even though their commanders could not but understand the hopelessness of attempts to resist the Star Destroyers.

Listening to the report of the complete destruction of the rebel base and the damages Gorgon received in the shootout, Daala, painfully pressing her lips together, looked out the window at the smoking ruins. Humanity has mastered space and have not learned to suppress the resistance competently. Wastefully throw resources, both human and technology. There are explored deposits on Korriban, you can organize a mining complex, and if in the vicinity there is no deposits of raw materials, open any production, and turn all this public that inhabited the base, to convicts. Instead of shooting, this hotbed of discontent could have been irradiated with some infrasound, causing panic in people, fear and obedience, disabling the will to fight. Our Maw Installation is busy with wrong things. Eminent scientists diligently improve the same artillery, instead of working on such utilities. I broke down the Korriban base, now there is nobody to question, it is impossible to dig into their computers, no place to find out where are the rest of the bases, after all, this one, lying in ruins, is just one of many.

Landed on the same vacant lot where the deceased pilots put the imperial shuttle - tracks have not yet disappeared on the ground.

Daala sent a team with bioscanners to the Valley of Tombs; Roganda and Jeng, listening to the Force, wandered through the ashes away from the soldiers, never losing sight of them. A grumbling could be heard:

"And on Coruscant were digging in the ruins, same here..."

"Stop talking!"

And in fact, Roganda thought, they should be glad they are intact, while others are on the frontlines.

Once counted fifteen corpses in white helmets among the ruins, Jeng called on foreman's comlink:

"The Force tells me that they are in the vault!"

The soldiers turned around the pile of rock fragments in three human heigths. The entrance to Tulak's tomb was hopelessly overwhelmed.

"We won't cope without two or three construction droids", someone voiced a common idea.

Scanner data coincided with Jedi's allegations: there is really two living people in the tomb, and they are at a third floor depth below ground.

Outflanked the crypt from the right - the same unwieldy ruins on place of the former entrance that reached right up to the cliff. Returned, described a circle - before the left entrance a lesser mound piled. They laid explosives there.

Comlinks of the imprisoned had been exhausted long ago and didn't respond. Scanners showed that people were somewhere nearby, but the soldiery and the Jedi wandered through the maze of the tomb all day, shining sabers and lighted lanterns mounted on helmets. Detachment fell in two traps: first, someone stepped on an unlucky stone on masonry floor, and an ancient mechanism came in motion - laserproof door thundered with a clang and rattle from the rear of the ceiling. Roganda and Jeng began to burn a passage. Then again someone has stepped on the wrong plate, and under their feet delve's mouth split open, sharp peaks, sticking at the bottom, pierced a fallen soldier. Finally they entered the cross-walk traced with blaster burns, dotted with stone rubble smashed from the walls and ceiling, and lifeless rebels in flight suits and helmets. Counting ten bodies, rescuers faced with debris towering to the ceiling. Pile of stones crushed eleventh rebel's legs, dead eyes staring at the dented ceiling. This one, apparently, was dying slowly.

"Ten meters to the people", the soldier with the scanner said, looking at the display.

"How they didn't choke, it's not the first day they're sitting there", said someone from the darkness.

"Hey there! Hey, you there!"

The answer was an inarticulate rattle. And it only came to the Jedi, whose feelings were enormously sharpened.

"Only the Force supports him", Roganda said. "Can't crawl away. You shouldn't blast".

"We'll have to work manually", Jeng sighed heavily and Force-pulled a cobblestone.

The Jedi dragged the boulders, Forceless men - the stones and pebbles.

Crypt prisoners were crouching on the bare cold plate, battered, scraped, covered in black dust, Palpatine - dizzy, Irek - unconscious. Both have been laid on a stretcher, dragged from the crypt, loaded onto landspeeder and hastily driven to the ship.

The Emperor soaked in the bacta bath under the supervision of two MDs. Roganda spoon-fed him with a refreshing broth.

At the door into a small officers dining room Roganda faced Daala. Motioning Irek to pass forward, Admiral overshadowed entrance to the room for Roganda, beckoned her aside and asked,

"How is the Emperor?"

"Feels too bad, and urged not to bother him."

"What a great opportunity to patch up the rift in your relationship..."

"We have a close-knit family, Admiral", snapped Roganda.

"That's just he is with Madame Isard, and you're with agent Droga. By the way, what were you two doing when - suddenly! - heard the master's call?"

"Sparred."

Admiral smiled filthily.

"Your funeral, of course. I understand, it's little joy to live with an old man and in the evening to wash his feet."

Roganda recoiled and almost ran into the room. At the sight of Daala Captain Kratas sprang from his chair and sat down only after her. Droid added several dishes. Irek has scraped in the shower and sat there, clinging to his mother, in warm pajamas from the ship's infirmary, that was too big for him. He was given only soup, MD referred to the fact that after fasting a heavy lunch will only hurt. Adults consumed steaks with vegetables.

Daala didn't calm down,

"I know that they normally soak in the bacta mother-naked. But when he will be drawn from a panacea tank – he doesn't have perforation of the stomach, he's not fed through a dropper, does he? – then I can pay my respect to him?"

Jeng twitched uncontrollably.

"What, Droga, not enough excitement of allegiance in my statement? Well, sorry, we soldiery aren't taught manners." Daala took a bite, chewed and went on, straight as a shot: "I just want to emphasize my role in the miraculous salvation of His Majesty. Valiant warriors of the Force - for all their ability to hear the master's voice across the galaxy – have no personal starships. And nobody even bothered to warn me when to run out on the ladder - to bow to the Emperor, when he was brought to the board. I have the ordinal commander in the guardhouse", Daala felt obviously sorry that she couldn't punish Jeng and Roganda.

"You'll have time, ma'am, you'll have time to curry favor with dad", Irek grimaced in turn.

"I want to get a new assignment. Maw is a pain in the neck!" Daala slashed her hand across her throat and banged her fist on the table with such force that all the plates bounced.

This woman's manners pulled the carpet away from under Roganda's feet. She couldn't even argue that Jeng wasn't her lover, she doesn't know who is Jeng's lover and whether he has her at all. It's useless to answer back, Roganda thought. Words that Daala drops instantly harden and turn into a centuries petrified beliefs, as the faces of statues of the Sith, carved in the rocks of Korriban.

By the end of the day Daala was told that the Emperor has been pulled out of bacta, and Admiral rushed to the hospital.

Sovereign reclined in a chair, small, wizened, completely disappeared under the folds of the lap-robe, methodically chewing pureed diet dinner. Daala stood in the doorway, saluted.

"I wish you health, sire!"

Palpatine turned to her, frowning.

"At ease, Admiral."

"Your Majesty, will your health allow to endure the flight through hyperspace?"

"Ask the droids."

"I have been told that the repair of Gorgon lasts another three days. The ship suffered minor damage during moping-up of the local rebel base."

"The gratitude, that you expect, promotion, as I understand..."

"Yes, sire. My squadron is idle, morale has fallen, we sit in the rear, away from the active army. If I could redeploy forces, if I was moved to another facility..."

"For your careless trust, coupled with a tendency to improvise without coordination with the command? You could be lured into a trap - another thing that your persona and a Star Destroyer are not as valuable to the Empire. You listened to Force users' allegations", here Palpatine coughed, but seemed to scoop the Force, that helped him to continue his tirade, "being unable to confirm or deny the existence of fluctuations in the Force. Your tendency to rush blindly, recklessly - is unacceptable for a mastermind."

It seems he's not happy that I've pulled him out. Now he orders to carry him back to the crypt and mure him up again, a wild idea flashed in Daala's mind. She stared at the rocky Korriban wasteland and the cracked old emperor, who came here to die.

I understand why. I understand. I'll take his secret to the armpit, and nobody knows how the great emperor disgraced himself.

"You will take me to Byss", finally ordered Palpatine and dismissed her with a wave of his hand.

After beating Daala tried to limit contact with the august family. Possibly, Roganda managed to whisper Palpatine that Daala was unable to conceal her slashing dislike. Admiral cruised from shooting gallery to the gym, dragged heaviest dumbbells – with physical activity, she jammed the bitter thoughts of her female loneliness, of the inactive vegetation in the Maw, and of how wrong the world works. Finally, the Gorgon's systems had been alerted, and the Star Destroyer has left a rocky wasteland. Gray dot hung in the black sky for a moment - and disappeared into hyperspace.

X X X

Alarm was shrieking. The Muun doctor and four meddroids were clinging to the wall. Two stormtroopers on duty trembled near, one of them, trying to confront strange diversions, got a knock on the head out of the void, and the other stumbled on an invisible foot. Their weapons were twisted in a knot by an invisible hand.

The door slid, and Admiral strode into the infirmary, a raised blaster in her left hand, and behind her - two officers and five stormtroopers - everyone who was standing beside, when she was reported about the incident.

"What ghosts on my Star Destroyer?"

Palpatine stood, swaying, held both hands before him, as if created an impenetrable Force shield around himself. Equipment sparked in smell of burning wires. Two officers looked at each other, puzzled. Daala surveyed the room, never lowering her blaster. Stormtroopers raised their rifles, turning their heads in bulky helmets, gazes searching for invisible enemies. Suddenly, one of the stormtroopers' helmet has described a complete circle on the broken neck, and the soldier crashed on his back, and the officers soared a meter above the deck, painfully collided, crashed down and lay as if they were pressed down under an invisible beetle-crusher, meaninglessly rolling their terrified eyes. Translucent, in the bluish glow, cadaverous four wove slowly out of thin air. Nautolan was holding his severed head, gathering his tentacles into a bundle. The one-armed black man and Zabrak with ripped belly lit their ghost lightsabers. The one that hung close to her, dour Iktotchi, whispered almost inaudibly,

"Withdraw your ramrods, clone. Don't meddle in the affairs of those gifted by Force." A ghost sword silently lit in his powerful hand.

Daala backed away. Already dead, our guns are nothing to them - and suddenly she realized that the horned ghost called her a clone. Reads minds. Anticipates each step. First and last time she was called a clone more than twenty years ago, and, having learned the truth, Daala hasn't blabbed a single word to anybody. When she was sixteen, parents learned that she had tried smoking, and slept with a guy. They shouted that she wasn't their daughter, it's bad genes, whose - unknown. It turned out that Daala is a defective clone. Customer rejected her for some reason, and she was sold to adoption. She said: "Army is place for a clone!" - and filed her documents to Caridan Academy. Daala shook her head and silently motioned the soldiers to go out. Survivors rushed out, and Admiral crept behind, holstering the useless weapon.

"Take post", hissed Daala, "and don't flap your mouths! I'll jettison talkers, clear?"

Time hung heavily, realization of her own powerlessness put her back up. As if that was not enough to lose the Emperor on her own ISD, after she'd rushed through half of the galaxy to drag him from Korriban! And most importantly - who would believe that Jedi came from other world and dragged the old man with them? Who would believe that this wasn't Daala who helped him? Admiral will have her head blown off.

Roganda and Irek rushed to Daala's office, sensing a surge in the Force, and behind them - Jeng Droga. While the bosses didn't need his services, Jeng practiced in the gym with his two sabers. And now he paced Admiral's office and muttered,

"We must also do something!"

"Wait, Droga! But if you can't stand it any longer, you can run over there, and they'll screw your neck!"

Roganda sat without moving, fixing the floor with unseeing eyes, pale fingers clutched the folds of her simple Jedi kimono. Ghosts on Korriban didn't touch him, as their "friend". But it was enough to go into hyperspace - the Jedi raided here, sensing weakness and deciding to take him with them. Old, injured... He can't cope.

Irek was fidgeting on the spot, his eyes were running. Fear mingled with joy and shame: after all, he wasn't hallucinating after homeopathic yarrock and two trepanations, it's not his SEC pressing at some parts of his brain - the ghosts do exist, the four dead along the road to the Corellian stadium entirely answered Daala's description.

Finally, Jeng couldn't endure and went. Soon he called that the ghosts were gone. Daala's subordinates rushed to the hospital, brought three meddroids with them. Debacle was in the room, littered with things that smelled of singed wires hanging from the fallen equipment. Palpatine himself was sitting on the floor, clutching the furniture and trying to climb at his feet, and his pajamas and robe were soaked in blood. He kicked them off again, as in the night when they had broken into his office to thwart the coronation. Finally, they melted, left him to surely be back, but his half-healed wound opened again - the effect of invigorating bacta was diminished.


	9. Clones

**Chapter 9 ****– Clones **

When approaching Byss, a brisk little ship tried to land on Gorgon's hull to go through the passage in the security field with her. But the pilot failed smugglers' old trick. He was taken down with tractor beam and drawn into docking bay.

Daala was informed about the capture. Admiral yawned,

"I will join the trough my collection, it'll stand next to the X-wing. Take the illegal immigrants to the prison block, treat them with the torture droid. As though you can't guess without the Admiral..."

The Byss capital was slightly different from metropolis - the same skyscrapers, over which innumerable satellites swarmed, and many kilometers of orbital complexes, but also, incidentally, not the entire planet's land was put in asphalt with build-up high-rises, and natural air still remained on Byss. Gorgon was met by lightning-excised sky in dark rags of clouds, turbulence was over-the-top, it became clear that hurricanes and storms on Byss are normal, usual thing, and a cloudless and windless day on this planet was a rarity. Daala couldn't understand why this planet with an inhospitable atmosphere became the Crown property, why Palpatine decided to build a second residence here.

After receiving landing clearance, a shuttle from Gorgon landed on the platform of Imperial Citadel, specified by controller. Surrounded by Daala's men, droids pulled a stretcher and handed the sufferer to manager, doctors and waiters. The last thing that Palpatine ordered Daala - to return to the ship and spend time in waiting.

Gorgon took a hangar at the military unit. Having reported to local command, Daala was left to her own devices – Maw gets postponed, that much at least! - and remembered about the captive.

"How many illegals out there?" Pulling off her gloves, she asked lazily.

"One, ma'am! Mandalorian."

"Drag here", Daala got interested.

The Mandalorian was brought in. He was, of course, disarmed, but the armor fitted him like a glove. Even through the helmet the bounty hunter managed to express deep skepticism at the sight of two rank cylinders and blue-red insignia on Daala's magnificent breasts.

"Remove your helmet, hunter."

"I don't take it off at work."

"Work is over", Daala smiled and gestured him to open his face. Bounty hunter pulled off his gray-green helmet. A human. Not furry, not horned, not scaly, not a woman. Swarthy, dark-haired.

The detainee was taciturn. His name is Boba, he has a "hefty job" on Byss, and she could draw nothing more from him. It was time to take him to cell and plug the torture droid, but Daala sent Mandalorian in disinfecting shower, and when he came out, he didn't find neither Daala's men, nor his equipment in the room.

"Now work", Admiral ordered. "Show your... prowess".

Boba's thoughts raced. He should put it in his best licks if she decided to keep him as a lover – perhaps, he won't be lynched.

In Maw there was 180,000 men under Daala's command, and, of course, it seemed to onlookers, whispering behind her back, that all of them were Daala's sex slaves. That she invites different men every day and uses. But Admiral couldn't afford herself to entertain. Discipline would collapse if she spreads for subordinates. Her authority will be undermined. If she relaxes - a riot will be in the cozy Maw. Without contact with the outside world she could only rely on her own strength, and she was alone, she and her service blaster - against 180,000 loafers, that must be kept in check.

Daala's deputy, Captain Kratas, told the local commanders, that Admiral Daala brought an illegal immigrant to the planet - the assassin Boba Fett, and put the recidivist in her private apartment on board the Gorgon.

And then, so that Daala didn't suspect him of trying to scheme against her, he hurried to her to warn that inspecting officers will come.

Boba was dressed in mechanic's threadbare clothes and taken to the maintenance bay.

Seeing the inspectors off, Daala was thinking, which from her men schemed against her. And why! Tarkin had a personal slave – a Calamari, that had escaped during the next terrorist attack at Despayre shipyard. Himself, His Majesty the Emperor lodged an underage with him, put her in the family way...

Enraged, Daala put on the Mandalorian armor and decided to try out the jetpack to take her mind off things. That is to motley my wardrobe, she told herself, what did Roganda mutter about glamorous boutiques? Coming out of the territory of a military unit in the open field, she left her speeder and took off - and wisely didn't rise higher than two meters, until a hurricane came on. A gust of wind swept Daala and carried her towards the city. She skirted skyscrapers, but couldn't turn back, just trying to stay away from air traffic - and there was a few ships on air highways, mostly public transport, few people dared to throw their speeders into a hurricane.

Dusk thickened, lights shone everywhere, and Daala, circumnavigating the approaching patrol, flew too close to the flashing billboards and, blinded, tried to dodge - and has not caught a gust of wind. She didn't understand how she managed to land successfully at one of the balconies of mushroom-shaped citadel.

She almost knocked someone off his feet, who was standing silently in the shadows.

"Phew", Irek bounced back and smiled widely. "Mandalorian".

Daala removed her helmet, breathing heavily and clutching at high balcony railing. Nauseous, dizzy, purple spots were dancing before her eyes.

"If it wasn't for me!.." Irek declared.

"You caught me?.."

"Yeah. You were against the billboard."

Daala squinted. Multimeter electronic board blinked, and the set of squares formed an ad of a casino.

"And I saw you... you've never flown on these jetpacks?"

"I have. Back in the Academy". Daala stretched out her hand to pat him on the head, but Irek pulled away.

"Long ago, you have long forgotten how to! You shouldn't gain height! Above the city! What a childishness!"

Daala winced.

"And why are you here alone?"

"I short-circuited the lackey! Mom wants to send me away to the shipyard, to study."

Daala tried to play out a polite hearing. Thoughts about the treachery of her subordinates again crept into her head.

"And I'm running from her across the citadel. It's all because I'd overheard a conversation, not intended for my ears. And now I must see these clones."

"What clones?"

"In the basement", Irek pointed to the floor, "is clone factory. And my mother wants to replace my father with one of... She thinks he won't recover from his wounds."

"Wait." Daala squatted down and looked into Irek's eyes. "Palpatine clones are cultivated here?"

"Yes. Mom came up to the laboratory manager, but he said that only staff and his Majesty the Emperor may come there."

"Perhaps you got everything wrong. I think Roganda was acting on his instructions."

"Get there and find out!" Irek clenched his fists. "I paused password guessing, because I saw you."

"You weren't informed", Daala straightened his hair, "so you don't talk to strangers. Like me. Who is not supposed to know this."

"You're my older friend!"

Daala smiled sadly, and Irek turned up his nose.

"Come on. I loaded up the building plan."

On the citadel ground level the guards freely let Irek pass - he was known for his status. Personnel only looked askance at Daala in the odious armor - and the prince threw off over his shoulder, "With me."

Citadel basement seemed to go as much levels down as that were towering. And Daala understood why Irek was so sure of himself - on the floor designated for the laboratory, four droids were on post. On-duties simultaneously rose and saluted, suddenly having changed their mind and deciding not to ask for ID or to scan the newcomers. Irek raised his eyes to Daala and smiled triumphantly.

"And can you do humans like this?" Daala teased. Irek's eyes instantly extinguished.

Power setback began in the citadel basement. Monitoring apparatus went off. It was repaired the whole night, trying to understand the reason of breakage. Self-powered alarm went out of order. Irek and Daala reached the laboratory, bypassing all those offices where living employees were, and night duty was quite a bit, and they didn't strive to run throughout all rooms and corridors. Finally, a blast door appeared before the alien newcomers, behind which the hidden room with clones was. Irek froze with far-way look - his appropriate program generated codes.

It seemed to Daala that it should already dawn on the street when Irek finally opened.

"Just pick up a six-digit code and disable the self-destruction device", he snapped, tired.

The only ceiling-mounted lamp glimmered, indicator lights flickered on the massive life-support systems of the clones. Irek blinked, light flooded the lab. Indeed, in cylinders filled with liquid, ginger, nosy, frail guys were resting. Irek bit his lip. Father is to die any day now, if not – he'll be helped! Burned in the crematorium, and on his place... he wondered, how his mother and some of these clones will explain the sudden Emperor's rejuvenation to the courtiers? Will they refer to the omnipotence of the Force? And how many people in Palpatine's office will buy it? And will he, Irek, survive, when a coup starts? Or everything will be all right - bureaucrats, time-servers, so as not to lose the plum positions, together recognize the clone as their boss, and will call him the deceased Emperor's name.

Irek wandered between the rows of two-meter tanks, considering clones sleeping in them. Daala stopped in front of a tank, tiptoed to have a better view. White body shriveled in the fetal position, connected to a power source with an artificial umbilical cord. Mindless face, tightly shut eyelids, wet red hair stuck to his head. Looks like me, she thought, and somehow she turned cold. Through a transparent tank filled with liquid, the same tanks with clones could be seen. With my brothers, Daala thought. I am the eldest of them. Minus one. Icy shiver began to beat her. She whirled and stared at the sleeping face - exactly the same. Now I know why I was refused by the customer. So what of it?

In the most distant Spaarti cylinders two baby clones grew up – Irek's peers. Daala finally noticed that the discouraged boy stooged around toddler reservoirs for a full hour, and she came up from behind, put her hand on his shoulder.

"It's time, my prince", she said, tapping her finger on his skinny shoulder.

"I'm not your Prince! I don't look like... Cronal was right."

Slipped out. Irek was scared.

The Constitution is not yet rewritten. For eight years, almost nine, Palpatine could find time to change the order of succession. If he wanted to pass the throne to Irek. But now it's late to change anything. The father will not survive long. Adoptive father!

"Sons look like mothers", Daala said gently. "As a general rule. And daughters look like fathers, nothing out of way, and dark hair is the dominant genes, are you badly learning biology?" Daala squatted down and hugged Irek.

"It's that you have unfulfilled maternal instinct", Irek blurted out, "or you do this, because I'm the Emperor's son?" And corrected himself, "Allegedly! You can not try, I don't inherit!"

Daala straightened up and shook Irek's shoulders.

"Don't panic, young man. In the palace the walls have eyes and ears. Your dad would have been instantly told, if your mom allowed herself something. And your dad has such a hobby, like the Force. Reads minds. He can't be fooled. Do you think he would recognize you as his son if he knew that you are not? He would have dumped her!"

Irek sniffed.

"And most importantly, young man", added Daala, "you are powerful in the Force."

"What you understand in the Force!"

"That to drive the Death Star with the Force - it's not like calling a sword to your hand through half the room! You have an immense Force, Irek. From whom did you got it, I wonder!"

"It would be nice if everything was like this", Irek drawled, but he clearly felt relieved.

"Strangers, get out!" a thug-like guard barked at the door.

Daala and Irek spun around. Four hefty dark Jedi, obviously growth hormone treated, lined up on the threshold, along with two droids.

They restored monitoring system in the observation room, Irek realized.

"We will explain only to my father", he drew himself up haughtily, "His Majesty the Emperor Palpatine!"

The Jedi began to deliberate. They informed the security chief, he notified the higher bosses, and Daala and Irek were led to the elevator.

The prototype reclined in the ward, looking through reports from Coruscant and casually consuming ice cream with fruit pieces. Beside him a Muun secretary perched on a chair, holding a bunch of folders. When informed of Irek and Daala's arrival, Palpatine sent Muun out with a gesture.

"You feel better", Irek blurted. "You'll just get well, it's too early to replace you with a clone."

Palpatine frowned. If he had not seen that his son worries for the throne. He would never be the head of state, he's not being prepared for this. He is locum tenens for Darth Vader! And even if the plan with clones dies on a vine - he won't give the Empire to a whippersnapper younger than forty years!

"I will myself choose a day when I die." Bony cold beringed fingers ruffled boy's hair, groped the subelectronic converter. Irek tried not to grimace. "So far - I do not intend to leave the Empire." He groped Irek's cheek, hard and painful, and pinched. "I explained this to your mother. Didn't she tell you that with the overheard snatches of conversation, incomplete information, you can make wrong conclusions and therefore, to act wrong? Then _I_ tell." Slightly slapped him on the cheek with two fingers, "Go."

Blushing, Irek flung out of the room - and fell into Roganda's arms, who has rushed here, when a droid told her,

"Ah, there you are, you wretched boy! I was told that you were caught in the clone lab!"

"I was curious, mom!"

"Why did you take Daala with you, and not me!"

"You'd only scold me and wouldn't let me in!"

Roganda was first inspired by the idea to go to Byss. To shed the old, infirm body... But Roganda thought with horror, that the clone is yet another man, albeit with rewritten memories. What if he doesn't want to live with a woman he had inherited, imposed by circumstances, when some old man enjoyed her - and he chooses another for himself, and she, Roganda, would be send out of sight, and another question if he provides her financially!

So when Palpatine popularly explained that it's not time to indulge clones, his mistress sighed with relief.

"Then why are we here?" Just in case she asked.

"Faster to get here from Korriban." And he hinted that he wasn't going to show her the clones beforehand.

...Old Sith reached for the tub with melted ice cream, sent a spoon in his mouth and squinted at Daala.

"And you - go back to Maw. I considered the possibility to transfer you to Byss", Palpatine frowned and waved his spoon, sandwiched between his fingers like a cigarette. "But you have dashed down your new assignment, putting your lopped nose into the laboratory."


	10. Galen

**Chapter 10 ****– Galen **

_When you see someone spitting lightning - you unwittingly think that __it's a great magician in front of you. And in fact, any learner can do this. Stupid thing is simple. There are far more difficult things._

_Eleonora Ratkevich, "Wooden Sword"_

The guards forced Daala to wait in the anteroom, and when she began to lose patience, Roganda finally went out.

"I go back to the Maw", Daala began.

"And?"

"I'd like to say goodbye to Irek."

"Irek has a lesson."

"I can't wait."

"Irek missed much, he needs to catch up", Roganda said and crossed her arms.

Daala tapped the toe of her boot, sighed.

"You can't count on appreciation of the mighty. Well, I, I just found myself at the right time in the right place..."

Roganda interrupted her,

"Weird, Admiral, why they haven't liquidated you, because you had learned too much."

"I understand, Roganda", Daala continued in diabetes-causing voice, "your services, too, were left without compensation. For the salvation of the monarch's life you should have been finally promoted".

"?"

"To the first lady!"

"Who registers now!"

"Don't judge the head of state by inhabitants' standards!" Daala burst out laughing. "Propose to him finally, or you will be a kept woman until his death."

"Want to rave it up on the wedding?"

"I'm sorry for your Irek. It's hard to go for a bastard."

"Admiral", Roganda raised her voice, "I didn't drink brotherhood with you!"

"When you become the first lady... Empress... erm, we ought to legalize the status of head of state's wife."

Roganda began to wring her fingers.

"Admiral, what do you want?"

"To see your baby. You have so assiduously insulated him from the outside world that he called his only friend a life-battered woman who is thirty years older."

"He doesn't go to school for safety reasons, Admiral! Moreover, he requires an individual curriculum!"

Daala continued, not listening,

"The only friend shouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

Irek ran in. Then his lecturer looked out, his lethorns nervously twisted, exposing the gill slits. Why would the royal young ignoramus care that he is late for a seminar?

"Daala!"

"Hello, young man." Admiral squatted down and opened her arms. Roganda grimaced, as if in pain.

Irek grabbed Daala's hand and dragged her into another room.

"Want something?.."

"I haven't come to dinner", Daala swallowed the word "nephew". "Your father sends me back to the Maw."

"When?"

"Tonight."

"I will never see you again?"

"In seven years, we must hand over a more compact superweapon prototype, if they approve it, put it on production, and if I'll be entrusted - then maybe I get out of Maw. Up to the curator. Or," she added, "more likely, I'll sit in the Maw until the think tank is relinquished."

"Then how do you feel about feeding rancors?" Irek let off. "You'll enjoy!"

"From where are rancors here?"

"Properly speaking, Chrysalids, they are genetically modified. You know, after power failure that I made, three clones have grown rank?" Irek giggled. "And dad was asked what to do with them, and he said: throw them to chrysalids. And I watched from the balcony as Chrysalids were munching them. Dad said that if I fool around like this once again, I'd fly to rancors myself."

Roganda chased them:

"Irek, where to?"

"For a walk!"

"Irek, you're not going anywhere until you do the lessons!"

"Lessons! I have lessons every day! Admiral, will you bring me home safe?"

In the elevator Irek handed Daala a box with a pin inside:

"Have this for a keepsake. And always wear it in your hair."

"Not the snazziest pin."

"It's made from taozin nodule. Mom always uses them. It's like ysalamiri effect, only if you comb out ysalamiri wool to knit socks – it won't make sense, and taozin works even dead and dismembered", Irek giggled.

"I don't get!"

"A Jedi can't apply the Force to you. Generally can't. And starts to panic. Let me Force punch you now, nothing will be."

"Won't Roganda spank you, 'cause you have stolen such valuable thing?"

"I've never been spanked", Irek said. "And she has a whole set".

"I would have."

"You should thank me!"

"If Jedi plump upon us to the Maw, I'll do", Daala smiled, patting him on the head.

X X X

"Well, your highness, haven't yet decided?" The zoo manager met them cheerfully. She was a very young Zabrak, a pair of lightsabers on her belt.

"What?" Daala quietly inquired.

"Maris wants to teach me rancor riding."

Maris smiled toothily, flashing her transparent yellow eyes.

"Look, over there in rancor's armor, is an arcuate dent. Hold onto the carapace edge, sit down, as in the natural saddle. In fact, a rancor is good-natured and jovial, he feels in the Force, with what attitude you come up to him..."

"No, Maris, I wouldn't venture", Irek refused. "I wanted to show Her Excellency, how they are fed..."

"Feeding is on schedule", Zabrak spreaded her hands, "you can't break. Once they got an unscheduled human flesh, I silenced them the whole day, they roared."

Daala shuddered.

"Come to the observation deck", Maris motioned.

Chrysalids had a shower. Hulks snorted and shook water off, sprayed with hoses, gaping their fanged mouths and swallowing water. There was no puddles - the water along with rancor biowaste went into the gutter at the edges of the enclosure. Niches, fenced off with rods in the opposite wall, reminded the fanged jaws of their inhabitants. Finishing shower, droids folded up their hoses and flew into the hole in the wall.

"Aren't they handsome", proudly commented the manager. "We now have five girls and three boys, waiting for an addition. That one kid is the son of the one with a broken right tusk, two cubs were born, but she crushed one, it happens, I cannot always be in the cage and watch... He is now a year and half."

"You go into rancor cage?"

"And who delivered a baby?" Zabrak looked contemptuously. "Only I survived from all the caretakers, now I'm on charge, and I care for the kids - it's still impossible without living hand, and droids - they are supporting."

"I wanted to say how do you manage to get along with them, have you studied somewhere?"

"I don't have a sheepskin", Maris hemmed, "but experience. I lived on Felucia for many years."

"Tell us about the fight on the rancor graveyard!"

"Again?" Maris smiled, but at this moment Irek's mother appeared on the balcony, breathless.

"Roganda, do you want a great hologram - you and a rancor. In this red dress - the most pulp."

Roganda had not even an evening dress, but downright ball one, with plunging neckline, even ridiculous against Maris in her tank top and leather pants.

"Thanks, Maris, you're so fond of me and my child. Irek, come on, and it should be time for her excellency", Roganda bared her teeth and grabbed the offspring's hand.

"Let's see Daala off!"

When Daala was shoved out of the palace and her speeder rushed away, Roganda, returning from a landing platform, flung off,

"Irek, I hope you don't give in to her entreaties to ride a rancor?"

"Mom, if something happens to us, Maris remains without work. And even without a head. What sense does it make to feed us to animals?"

"We grew up together in the Temple. Look where I am and where's Maris."

Associate Professor called to the University and said he was ill. Having conducted the rest of class, he took his leave, and Irek, determined not to miss rancor feeding, escaped as soon as his mother turned away.

The cub was chasing his mother, biting her tail, clawing and trying to get on her back. Rancor mother snapped and shook the playing baby down, finally she swung and overturned her son with a blow of her huge clawed paw. The cub squealed piteously, blood appeared on his scratched nose. Adult rancors, bored in the distant corners of the enclosure, began to catch up close, feeling the blood of a possible prey.

Maris' tiny form appeared in the enclosure. A wave of Force emanated from her, whipping, shaming, calming down. Rancor mother backed away, bending her neck, shaking her head, and looked apologetically. Maris stamped her foot and pointed in the direction of the cell. Tail between her legs, the rancor moved out, and Maris in the meantime began comforting the whining rancor youngster, stroking his face and saying,

"Just a scratch, a couple of days and no trace remains."

Irek felt that Maris relieves his pain with the Force. Rancor cub got down on four legs, arching and raising his ass to the ceiling, and began to wind his fanged head - a playful mood seemed to have returned to him. Maris rebounded from a three-meter swinger, lightly smacking the cub with the Force. Finally, he tired of chasing the Jedi and sat down on the floor. Somewhere in the side the rancor father yawned.

"Tired, baby? Nom nom? Want to nom nom? Get up, go into the cage. Guys, to the cage! Come on, come on."

Leaning over the lookout railing, Irek watched rancors obediently diverge on niches, and the lattice loudly enters into the grooves, fencing beasts off from each other. Every beast had a special menu - a whole carcass hung for one of them, others were given bloody chunks of flesh, a medley of fortified canned and hacked offal was supposed for the younger generation. Droids pushes the meat on a fork through the fence bars, behind which rushed hungry predators, beating their tails. Clawing a carcass, rancor rested his second hand on the floor, spreading his hind legs and inch by inch dragged the prey between the bars, and finally he sat down and began to slurp, consuming the carcass along with skin and bones.

When the manager was able to pay attention to him, Irek began,

"And you promised me..."

"I don't have a hologram, sorry."

"So tell me!" Irek sat down with his legs tucked under in Maris' chair, she herself had to sit on a box. "My imagination works well."

X X X

Galen Marek hew his way through the glowing blue-violet undergrowth. When the red saber hacked down another huge blue flower with fleshy phosphorescent petals, a yell came from behind a bush,

"What are you doing, crud?"

Galen looked with bleary eyes. The whole bunch of aborigines with bows and spears was coming at him, two rancors with enormous tusks flanked the primitive platoon. Two women rode rancors – a Togruta and a Zabrak, and the Force told Galen that they are the very Jedi, who, according to Vader, were agitating locals to revolt against the Empire.

Galen brought the lightning to action, and soon the picturesque meadow turned into ashes strewn with the blue corpses. Flipping in the air, Galen dodged from Zabrak's rancor and even in-flight dicharged a sheaf of lightning at him. Maris managed to jump in the last second, and, scraping her palms, tripped over a branch to immediately fly off to the side, while Galen surged another volley into Shaak Ti's mount.

When the second rancor crashed on his back, crushing lilac bushes, and stopped, thick vines entangled Galen from behind and dragged him back, tying him to a tree trunk. He was braided by climbing branches and flowers, a flexible stalk coiled around his lightsaber handle and pulled the weapon from his belt. Galen hung two feet above the ground. His first thought was - the carnivorous plant digestive juices will dissolve him for another fifty years. And maybe this blue natives wove a trap from the vines, but no one will come over and fry Galen at the stake. But after a second Galen realized that Shaak Ti commands flora and fauna of the planet.

A stalk reached to Togruta and, hand-like, gave her Galen's saber. Shaak Ti affixed the trophy to her belt, put her foot on the bulging purple root, jabbed her finger in Marek's cheek,

"Who are you, blunderer?"

"I'm, whatsit, Darth Vader's apprentice!"

"What does he teach you!"

"That I'll overthrow the Emperor!"

Maris hunkered in front of the prisoner, felt up his thigh.

"Shaak Ti, maybe we'll use and release him? Overthrow the Emperor is a just cause..."

Galen threw a lightning into his fetters. Charred climbers fell down, Galen jumped, shook himself, and called on his sword. A fraction of a second Shaak Ti and Galen Force pulled the weapon, finally, the owner had the saber.

"Scum", Maris screamed, "you don't know what to do with the girls, instead of killing them?"

Over a narrow canyon, that exuded the stench, a flock of vultures soared into the air. Describing the circles over the rancor graveyard, birds were waiting for an the outcome of fight. Galen oppressed Maris to clean gnawed skeleton – chest in size of a wardroom on Rogue Shadow, long tusks of a man's height. Maris jumped on the huge skeleton, Galen followed and slashed straight from the shoulder. Maris backed away on the rancor spine, staggering and barely beating off the enemy's attacks. With a whooping, Shaak Ti jumped after them, turned over in the air with both hands holding a blue saber over her head - and pushed Galen's shoulders with both heels. Marek flew upside down, crushing rancor bones. He rose, whirled his cropped head, took a few steps, scratched his head,

"Eh! Oh! Uh! Where've they tucked away?"

Maris and Shaak Ti looked out of the skull eye pits. Togruta tried to call a couple more rancors up here, but sensed desperate resistance in the Force: of course, a famished rancor didn't disdain even carrion, but no healthy animal approached the canyon of death.

Finally, Galen felt the Jedi in the Force and thrust his sword into the rancor skull:

"Aha!"

XXX

"And then?" Irek asked. He huddled up in his chair, resting his cheek on his fist.

"Then you know", Maris snapped her fingers. "Galen drove us through the canyon, and on the other side sarlac cleft began. Shaak Ti had hoped to feed it with Galen", Maris turned away. "But he chopped sarlac tentacle, stabbed her and dropped her down to be devoured. And I talked him to spare me and give me a ride to Coruscant."

Irek raised his eyebrows, but Maris didn't enlarge upon, how she was mysteriously able to negotiate with a murderer. An adult grimace distorted listener's attractive face - you yourself, auntie Maris, have very clearly hinted… haven't even hinted, but plain text, you offered him something...

XXX

Returning to the Rogue Shadow, Galen contacted Vader.

"Unzipped the Jedi! Now can I shred the Emperor?"

"No, Galen! You're not ready yet! Pho-phh, I'll get back to you later!"

Distressed, Galen sat to meditate and found out,

"Eh! Gee! And the gramps's on my Master's Executor! Then I'll go to Executor! If anything's wrong, Master covers up!"

Rogue Shadow was let in the hangar bay – Galen had the access codes, after all, he lived on his master's ISD for years of his apprenticeship.

Red guards blocked Galen's way to the desired quarters. Unconvincingly mumbling: "Urgent report to lord Vader" and being turned down, Galen delivered a powerful Force blow at the door, sending imperial bodyguards to fly apart and crash into the walls.

Shriveled morel in black robes sat at the table. Beloved mentor sadly piled near, the filter of his suit, letting the air, uttered rhythmic "pho-phh".

Palpatine croaked,

"Vader, cleanse the galaxy from an idiot."

Master's red saber flashed, Galen collapsed on the deck. Guards dragged him by feet.

"Taught the moron", Palpatine spat, discharging a lightning at Vader.

XXX

"And you?"

"And they asked me what I can do", Maris shrugged. "And, behold, here I am."

Irek didn't say that Galen haven't become one with the Force on Executor. Because a few years later Irek himself met him. Vader should have struck his pupil hard back then, but not mortally, and Galen regained consciousness in the bacta, seeing master's black helmet through the tank with green liquid: "Pho-phh. But the Emperor thinks you're dead."

Maris paused, twirling her braid tip. Sharp buzzing of a comlink distracted Irek from painful memories.

"Yes, Mom? I'm with Maris! No, I didn't go down to rancors and don't intend - Maris tells me about Felucia... how Galen Marek found them."

One sound of his name made Roganda wince.

"Irek, go home," she said wearily. "I won't chase after you, lead you by hand. You understand?"

Disabling her comm, Roganda sobbed and wrapped her shawl tighter. Nine years ago, a single step almost crossed out her cozy, comfortable, joyless life. On that day she went into the garden, but in a deserted hallway a hefty lunker blocked her way.

Tall, impossibly musclebound, with bristling hair and tiny eyes under a narrow forehead, the guy activated the red saber in his right hand and picturesquely waved it in front of Roganda's face, and lightning struck from his left hand, sending the bolts up and melting the ceiling.

"Whatsit", swelling with pride, knuckle-dragger introduced, "I'm like, in word, Darth Vader's apprentice, here. Here is, whatsit, I'm heir to the throne."

Bully danced about in front of Roganda, fawning, arms crosswise, overmuscled carcass obscured her way out. Roganda tried to dodge under his arm – and could not, darted to the other side – he blocked again. She staggered back and tried to run away, picking up her skirt. But the spindlelegs stopped emitting electric discharge, and stretched out his hand, catching her very long flying scarf with the Force and pulling her up to him.

"Where to?" musclehead rumbled, considering Roganda's outfit - corset, transparent scarf on her bare neck, covering up the neckline, and long skirts.

"Let me go!" Roganda imploringly looked into his tiny eyes.

The jockstrap grabbed Roganda around the waist:

"Girl, let's whatsit around the corner and do stuff, hey, girl?"

"Moron!" And she tried to Force-push him away.

The last thing she saw were his bloodshot eyes. He worked his jaws.

A blow struck on her head. The light faded.

Roganda saw her body sprawled on the floor, unnaturally inverted hand, scattered hair. The goon busily lifted up her dress. She tried to descend from the ceiling, back into her body - to no avail. Again tried to send musclehead flying with the Force - in vain. The Force didn't answer. She tried to cry out - silence.

The maypole left her lifeless body lying on the floor, zipped up his pants and briskly moved on. Roganda rushed about. It was impossible to leave her body - it seemed to her that she will dissolve, losing sight of it - but she had to fly after the musclehead, try to make somebody hear, to demand punishment.

The sturdy caught up Darth Vader who awkwardly paced along the corridor.

"Master, I had sex!"

"Pho-phh. With whom?"

"There, sprawls just round the corner".

Vader went to see – and, seeing the handiwork of his pet, waved his prosthetic devices:

"Galen, you moron! You moron, Galen!"

Apprentice smiled modestly.

Vader leaned over Roganda, tried to shake her with the Force. She didn't come round.

"Pho-phh! What have you done?"

Galen spread his husky arms.

"Tossed her soul out of her body, cuz she'd yapped".

"Get her back, now!"

"I dunno how to. You haven't taught".

Vader waved his prosthetic hands and bitterly cried out:

"Lord Sidious will tear our heads off!"

Galen clapped his bleary eyes. Vader turned to the apprentice and slashed the air with his fist over Galen's head – the apprentice prudently hunkered.

"Galen, you're brute! You're brute, Galen! Before you lunged at the girl, couldn't you find out whose she is?

"But I needed badly, master".

"Would a random girl walk across the level where Emperor's apartment is situated, where only servants and stooges are allowed?" Darth Vader wailed. "When an apprentice is brain-dead, why it's always master to blame? I didn't hold your hand, I didn't push you to her, but it will be me who gets Lord Sidous's lightning!"

Roganda was grabbed and pulled. Intolerably squeezed, squashed, it seemed that she was dying - and then there was pain in the abdomen, cold floor, wet thighs, her stiff legs, and back of the head was sick, and her spine too, she sure got bruises when she fell. She sat down and tried to crawl back. A black mask loomed above her. Hand on his hip, Vader shook his fist over her head:

"Get back to where you've come from! Drop a word to Lord Sidious - I'll choke you! Pho-phh!"

Squatting behind his mentor, Galen looked out from behind his cloak.

Roganda struggled to her feet, fumbled her bare foot for her fallen shoe and wandered, limping, without looking back. Vader could not warn - Roganda wouldn't dare to hint to her protector! He wouldn't forgive, he'll loathe, he'll spurn her! He'll scorn her for that she hasn't fight off! "You are trash, and not a Jedi!" She repeated favorite refrain of Master Saa, who taught Padawans to eliminate pain with the Force. Roganda never succeeded in doing it.

When Roganda was out of sight, Vader once again waved his prosthetic hand, desperately gasping,

"Galen, you are moron! You are moron, Galen!"

"So what, Master?"

Vader was strenuously panting, searching for words. Galen surged a shower of sparks up in the air and proudly exclaimed,

"Master, but I can make lightning, and you can't!" He dinched the electric show and, snifting a bit, blurted out, "I'm not a moron, master! I know a new word you don't know! Clever word! Loooong one! About you! ASTRAPOPHOBIA!"

Roganda made her way home and tried to wash off the traces and memories of violence in a hot bath, looking for bruises. She waited for her master to come from work - and was his little good girl, always cheerful and calm, happy with everything. She took off her sponsor's shoes, helped to dress for dinner, pretended to eat, listened to incomprehensible talking about the work, of which she remembered only that her master vetoed today - what bill it was, Roganda's mind refused to perceive. The farther the worse: Palpatine had her strip dance, and she squirmed on a narrow red roundel dais, with a strained smile, to intolerable music, trying not to let Palpatine notice anything.

"Baby, what's wrong? Are you ill?" the dodderer asked, sending a spoonful of ice cream with fruit pieces in his rotten-teeth mouth.

"Yes, master, I feel bad, sorry", Roganda squeezed out, but he wanted to make love, and she had to go in his open arms and endure his ministrations. He used the Force, as well as he'd invigorated himself for battle, pounding in that what has been already tormented.

The next day Kir Kanos and Carnor Jax brought the Emperor a surprise.

"Sire, kindly look at this..."

Galen met Roganda directly under a surveillance camera.

"How did you let him in?" Palpatine got into a frenzy.

"Darth Vader brought him in, Your Majesty..."

Having watched the record up to the end, Palpatine rushed to look for someone who has added a pair of branched embellishments to his crown.

"Vader!"

"What's your bidding, my master?" The hologram knelt.

"I want to see your apprentice, Galen Marek."

"Excuse me, sire, but this is impossible: Galen is seeking Jedi survivers. He is not on Coruscant. Pho-phh."

Galen hasn't been heard of since that time. They searched for him - or rather, pretended to look for. Nine months passed, Irek was born.

...Tilting her head to one side, Roganda was fondly looking at the child in her arms, intently sucking her breast, eyes shut tightly. Palpatine sat down beside his madonna with child, and, bending, almost pecking his long nose in her cheek, said,

"You know, an curious project has been introduced for my consideration, and I agreed to put up money for Professor Magrody's experiment..."

And he explained what this unprecedented experiment required.

Roganda laid the precious bundle, jumped from her seat and, pounding the air with her fist, screamed in a whisper:

"I won't let thirl my baby's skull!"

"Galen Marek's kid is a perfect fit!" Palpatine snapped.

Roganda paled.

"But, master," she whispered, "you do know?"

Palpatine took her by the chin and threw her head back almost to a pain in the neck, looked with unblinking, staring eyes and chided very gently,

"Are you grateful that I have adopted your child? I see, you aren't. If you aren't content with my terms, you can leave..."

The very next day a notary handed Roganda a document, pointing his lekku tip:

"Here, ma'am. Sign the consent form".

But now Roganda thought that he probably just pressed on her this way, unsettled her. Would he recognize Irek, if he didn't trust himself?

"Mom, why I can't go to the zoo? I'm bored."

"Came back?" Roganda turned. "And I worry, what if they bring you bitten in half!"

Irek nervously chuckled and shook his head.

"You locked the room and switched on a movie, I realized almost an hour later that you weren't there! You're lying, you don't want to say where you go, and that you actually go out..."

"You've seen it yourself, how she controls the pack. I could learn from her", Irek sulked, "agree, this is useful..."

"I hope you won't have to live on a wild planet and tame local predators."

Not for a moment he goes down into the rancor enclosure! Mom doesn't understand that this is not for the fanged bumpkins, but for the strong girl who looks after them. He just didn't have time to say: "Let's play. I'm Galen. Say and do whatever you did... then". How did she tame the murderer like a rancor cub? Bare arms, gloved hands, nude abdomen, tiny tank top, wrapping big breasts with protruding nipples in obscene way - Irek blushed and covered his mouth with his hand, imagining Maris kneel down and unzip Galen's pants, squeezing his tool between her breasts, and reaching out with her tongue. He closed his eyes and shook his head. She did it with Marek - after he'd killed her friend, simply exercising, sent by Vader to Felucia to practice on the fugitive Jedi. She did it to survive, Irek said to himself, but Galen's morose face persistently loomed before his eyes, and fantasies about Maris boiled down in his heart, leaving only the squeamish sediment.

Once Irek faced Starkiller too.

XXX

Raxus Prime ball browned behind the viewport. Irek was trying to see the oceans on the planet's surface, that seemed to be a dirty monolith from outer space.

"Professor, is there any water?"

"Backfilled", Magrody said, referring to datapad. "The whole planet of Raxus Prime is a huge garbage dump, and people live under domes, where the air is artificial, getting to work places, that is, to factories, by leakproof transport. But the production center is, of course, the orbital shipyard, where we are heading to!"

XXX

Transmitting access codes Vader has supplied him, Galen Marek was allowed to Raxus Prime military base and put Rogue Shadow in an avaliable landing dock.

Base command welcomed him - Galen filed an ID signed by Vader that he arrived ostensibly to help in fighting against the Rodian Salvage Guild and rebellious local Jawas. Galen was immediately offered to go to the planet's surface and join the punitive squads, but the guy refused, and demanded access permit to the shipyard.

He had already had all access codes. Galen carried out. He didn't think. The astonishing mismanagement: the taxpayers' money, for which was built the shipyard, performing state orders for ISD production; the corpses of workers and their bereaved families; the destruction of the planet, on that a rain of debris pours from the orbit - all that is not his headache. Vader said that the responsibility for the sabotage at Raxus Prime shipyards will rest with the rebels, but why to destroy their own imperial object – he didn't specify.

Agent Starkiller made his way to a control point, a few finely honed lightsaber swings - all the droids, who worked at the dashboard, fell on their consoles in a pile of sparkling metal, melted parts and protruding wires. Galen activated the projector mounted on his wrist, and revealed the holographic control scheme. He took a step toward the dashboard, Force-sweeping a shredded droid from the chair, but...

At this moment the door slid, and a fitter droid entered the maintenance deck control point, working its cutters. Galen skedaddled from enraged collector around the shattered room, dodging the deadly rotary cutters, trying to slash with his lightsaber, but droid seemed to predict human's moves and intentions - and each time it avoided Galen's blows. 12 feet tall, with fifteen manipulators, droid lowered its heaviest "hands" on the bulkheads Galen dove under. Equipment sparkled, parts scattered fanwise. Galen jumped diagonally and hung on the ceiling. He slashed the cutter arm stretched out to his leg and chopped droid limbs one by one, like dianoga tentacles. When the droid was left nothing to catch Galen, Starkiller vertically thrust his sword into a mechanical brain, and carefully swooped from the ceiling beyond the reach of the falling metal hulk.

The fitter droid simply couldn't have a fighting program. It acted like a human. More precisely, like a person who is outside the control point, and apparently monitoring Galen, who has remote access and remote steering droid's movements, immediately and successfully reorienting. But then, why these monitor room employees didn't call a guard detachment here?

Galen looked around. Control point was hopelessly shattered, Galen was now unable to use defective equipment.

He left the shattered room and went directly to the very ore cannon, hoping to overload the power generator with lightning.

Galen continued his way through the factory corridors, punching his way, and in moments of respite referring to the plan Vader provided him with, that Galen didn't understand. He found himself in the melting shop, where were no living workers, and now a real hunt has began - controllers strove to put him down in the furnaces, they again seemed to be controlled from outside. With great difficulty, leaving a bunch of malfunctioning equipment behind, he broke away from the shop, cutting through the door.

Galen rang for turbolift, waited for the lift doors to have departed - and a group of black-armored stormtroopers fell out, and an astromech rolled behind them. The guys in white helmets opened fire. Galen made a giant leap in the air, dodging shots, caught a pipe fifteen meters above - and, balancing on a pipe, began to deflect blaster bolts with his lightsaber. Someone got his own bolt in the head, someone - in the chest, someone - in the stomach - soon the worthy disciple of Darth Vader killed all the guards. Brandishing a sword and precisely beating shots off, Galen didn't notice that the astromech hasn't been hurt.

Catching his breath, the guy jumped from the pipe and moved toward the elevator again, stepping over the lifeless stormtroopers. Lift blew up somewhere, and from the elevator shaft, with a roar and rattle, clambering over the wall and using the swaying ropes for support, Shadow Guards climbed. The first one shot, while still in the elevator shaft. Marek beat blaster bolts off, raked the armor with his lightsaber, and just at that moment when last guard gasped out his life, astromech rolled to Galen from behind, extended an arm and snatched an electric surge. Suppressing with the Force the pain of a burn, almost stumbling over a crumpled carcass from which the half-charred Shadow Guard corpse tumbled out, Galen slashed across the R2 unit, but it made an unexpectedly nimble jerk to one side, and Galen's saber only burnt through its top hull. Yet the droid, turning, couldn't resist the blow and fell down on one side, the lid came off and it became clear that almost all the stuffing was pulled out of it, so that a boy could fit inside.

The bastard prince crawled out of the R2 unit, toothless grin. The trepanation scar cut through his shaven head. Marek was horrified to realize that a remote control was in his head. And it seemed to be like a universal remote - Prince easily and without worries connected to any machinery, which schematics he had studied. And, obviously, he was familiar with the filling of all the equipment in the Raxus Prime shipyard.

"Your Highness, it's unsafe to play there", Galen quietly called out.

Emperor's son made a pass and said, offended:

"You want to jump into the elevator shaft!"

But Galen didn't budge: Sithspawn was still a dropout, poorly controlled his emotions and was not able to fully apply his monstrous power. An overwhelming flow of resentment and anger flooded Galen, but Prince has worked more like an empath, rather than as an inductor. Apparently, he was much more intensively trained to influence droids than humans.

Marek grabbed the boy in his arms,

"Better stay put, your highness. And don't activate anything more. I need you to complete my assignment."

He returned to the docking bay, Force-persuading all the staff who tried to ask some questions, that they will immediately forget him, like he didn't walk there. Galen would sweeter apply the usual way of shutting their mouths with help of the saber and lightning, but a live load prevented a fight.

Galen brought Irek into the Shadow's cockpit and soon left the station. When Rogue Shadow went into orbit, Galen looked away from the dashboard. Tied to a chair, handcuffed, Palpatine's son stared blankly into the blackness beyond the viewport.

"And now you refocus the ore cannon, from that the station throws waste into outer space. The gun should work inside the station, well, you got it", Galen demanded.

"I can't connect. I haven't studied it yet. Give the drawings, I'll run it."

Galen clicked some buttons and displayed a hologram,

"Cannon scheme. Learn, my prince..."

He leaned back in his chair and put his feet on the dashboard.

The galaxy hasn't yet known such a weapon. Cyborg, endowed with the power to remotely affect the operation of mechanisms, to reprogram computers distantly - this boy is already worthier than Vader and all Force-sensitive agents performing missions for the Emperor. When he gets older and learns to fence properly and to have an impact on people's minds – he'd be priceless. And the disabled one in his suit will go into metal scrap.

Galen bit his lip. Now the meaning of the mission was clear. Vader simply learned that the bastard prince flew to study the factory equipment in the Raxus Prime shipyard. All sabotage was directed against a single child.

Galen shuddered - the transmitter came to life on the dashboard. Apparently, the Prince was up to his old tricks again - remotely set up a connection. The boy gave the equipment a command to transmit the call sign and the parameters of Rogue Shadow to the base. It's useless to switch on DF silencers. Galen's Shadow is under surveillance.

"What are you doing, Your Highness?" Flashing his eyes, Starkiller activated the lightsaber and thrusted a humming scarlet blade under tied-up Prince's nose. Heat of the blade made the boy to move away, as far as possible.

"I work, uncle from Vader's suite. As you said. Have patience, I've never worked with such systems."

Transmitter burst out,

"Starkiller, go to the docking bay. Otherwise, we open fire. Starkiller, you understand me?"

Galen didn't hurry to press feedback button and respond. He burned the Prince with his stare – what's-his-name, should he remember the names of all Palpatine's bastards. Damned kid replied with a rebellious look of triumph in those steel-gray eyes, like his father's.

"I'll run through you."

"You better prang into your ore cannon. The effect is the same as if I had it redirected. Station would be blown, yes. And your garbage-can along with it."

Galen turned green. Yet on Executor, when viewing the station plans, his droid Proxy warned his owner that the probability to exit the blast radius with minimal damage to the ship is 0,01%. Galen had just dismissed it. He believed that he would have time to go into hyperspace. The Force is with him, and his respected Master would never send his faithful Starkiller to death.

ISD hovered over the shipyard, ready to spread the Rogue Shadow into atoms. Galen snorted - they honored his craft, sent an ISD against a single Jedi! Ramming into the ore cannon and bringing his young life on the altar of Vader's grand scam did not make sense. Marek sat up in his chair, clutching the dashboard, a crazy idea dawned in the tiny brain under the solid skull – why not to try it?

Powerful Force push - and the ISD began to collapse on the place from which it has soared. But it managed to release a TIE squadron, and the approaching fighters disturbed Galen much more than ISD clash with the yard and the subsequent explosion. Flying debris crashed into an artificial satellite and the station went off the orbit.

Perhaps Galen should surrender. At least he buys time till his imminent death. But before his death, Galen Marek, Starkiller, won't deny himself a pleasure to cut five-year-old's throat. Vader's school!

Only a millimeter separated the light blade from boy's neck, as a display device came on, and instead of the expected loons in the uniform a woman appeared. Galen even had time to notice that she was beyond measure painted and hung with bling - before he tipped over in the chair. Starkiller's eyes popped out of their sockets. Gaping mouth wheezed air that didn't pass into the throat, contracted with Force tendril. Likewise, beloved mentor Vader on Coruscant strangled a lieutenant in the Saffiat System who had his top tunic button undone.

"Madame Ismaren, Madame Ismaren, we must pass the saboteur into custody, it's the lynch mob", relay station chief bustled on the other side of the transmitter.

"How is Prince Irek? Is he alive, is he safe?" bounced the permanent prodigy's tutor, Professor Magrody, fearing to lose his job, and tried to look over mother Ismaren's and the station chief's shoulders.

It was the last thing Galen heard. His head bumped on the dashboard, and the light in his eyes dimmed.

X X X

"Attack of a rebel suicide bomber... At the disaster caused by the fall of the ISD "Invincible" at the Raxus Prime shipyard, 50,000 factory personnel and 40 thousand people on board perished..." with no expression, Palpatine read out loud the report prepared by Vader.

"I was informed that your son Irek with his mother, pho-phh, was on the shipyard for the purpose of studying", Darth Vader boomed. "I offer you, pho-phh, my deepest condolences, lord Sidious."

XXX

Galen came to in a rotating energy cocoon along the way through hyperspace.

"Hey, where I'm being taken?"

"To the proper quarters!" the guard snapped.

Force stroke smashed all the equipment in the room, toppling heavily contused stormtroopers. Cocoon went off.

Breaking through the bridge and leaving mountains of burnt bodies behind, Galen lifted the captain up in the air with the Force,

"So where I'm being taken to, cap?"

"Hrrr... To the Death Star... Let go!"

"Where it is?" Galen said, never unclenching his grip.

"This is the sta... hrrrgh... tion in the Ho... hrrrgh... ruz system. There ah... are... Darth Vader and his majesty Palp... hrrgh..."

"So take me to the proper quarters! Just gimme what to eat and my saber, whatsit."

Marek spent rest of the way as a passenger, eating and drinking at his leisure.

XXX

"Roganda sent a hologram from Raxus Prime - what nonsense have you written in your report, Vader?"

"I was misinformed, lord Sidious. Those responsible will be found and promptly strangled, pho-phh!"

XXX

The slaughter started right in the Death Star hangar bay. Countless hordes of stormtroopers and snipers - Galen soared into the air, absorbed the Force and spewed it out from himself, scattering all living things and inanimate objects around, the walls bent, and he didn't even reflect the bolts with his saber strokes but with a lightning shield. Making his way to the elevator, Galen turned down a massive grill on the other side of the hangar, shoot lightning, clearing his way, and jumped into the shaft.

In the control center Tarkin wrought his fingers, hands behind his back.

"What is happening there?" he spit out. "Say at least..."

"Our soldiers will cope, sir, the situation is under control..."

Palpatine folded his arms on his chest:

"Again, this dolt? I should have attended the cremation back then."

Galen strayed along tunnels, bumping into security sweeps and sending the shooters to eternity, and after an accelerated march he found himself in the shaft designed for Death Star beam, that at the moment, unfortunately, was switched off. Passing a system of halls with rotating rings, stopping equipment and putting rings in the suite, he got into the room where the lasers rays converged - and a pair of walkers has been sent there of despair. Galen jumped on the first transport, at the same time Force-subverting the second, and plunged his sword to the hilt into the hull, disheveling the sheathing and nailing the driver and the shooter to the seat. Fused, twisted walker wreckage fell to the deck, and Galen was flying to demolish guns from its disoriented twin.

Galen took a lift – he had already lost count of them - to the very top platform in front of a converging lens, the goon confronted with a new guard detachment. Leaving a bunch of lifeless bodies behind, he broke the door with a Force blow, and stamped his foot loudly in the corridor.

"They say on the deck thirty-second – the Jedi put down hundreds of our people and breaks into Emperor's apartments!" Motti's face puffed up and went so red, that he seemed ready to burst.

"And you underestimated the dark side of the Force, Admiral", Vader spat, and tinge of contentment was noticeable even in the modulations of the mechanical voice.

XXX

Palpatine and Galen doused each other with lightning, not reaching the enemy and crossing in a sparkling blue-white net. Vader stood like a stump, hoping to sneak up behind the Emperor and jab him in the back with a saber - but as soon as the loyal assistant removed the saber from his belt, not having time to push activation button, the old Sith snatched such a powerful electric surge that Galen fell flat on his back, charred to the bone.

At this time, Palpatine didn't miss the cremation, personally holding the holocamera and recording how the carcass goes into the furnace on a conveyor belt, to show the amusing video to Roganda and Irek.

Vader assured that his apprentice, having received medical treatment, fled in an unknown direction, and since then he hadn't contacted him, while the attack said only that Galen had joined the rebels.

"You can't ask the dead", Palpatine snapped. His assistant's respirator drew air with hacking wheeze - Vader was preparing for execution, most likely the last in his life.

"Vader. I forbid you to be on the same ship with me – don't even place your prosthesis on the planet where I am. Contact me only by hologram. Do you understand me?"

"Lord Sidious is all-good and all-merciful! Pho-phh."


	11. AWOL

**Chapter 11 ****– AWOL **

Until the takeoff from the military space launcher complex, hope was still seething in Daala's soul, but when the Gorgon got off from the landing platform - only lime scales remained. Back to the cozy Maw. And she didn't get gratuity.

When she left the Death Star, Tarkin didn't invite her to drop in on the way back. Well, Daala realized that all was over between them, yet when he hadn't visited her in hospital, wounded - and stayed away until she left the station.

An encrypted call came to Slave I through a dedicated channel. Daala allowed Boba to respond to the customer, as she stood outside the projection.

Blinking and twitching, the hologram barked:

"Fett! What are you busy with, I ask! Pho-phh! Your signal still comes from Byss, pho-phh, while the object is spotted on Kamino! What do I pay you for, pho-phh?"

"You haven't paid me a dime yet, lord Vader", Boba explained dispassionately.

"Pay for play, pho-phh."

"Usually I take a prepayment", Boba said, "for my costs. Fuel sets back a lot nowadays, you know..."

Black helmet puffed sarcastically, and the hologram faded.

Boba leaned back in his chair, ruffled his hair. Daala climbed onto his lap, flung her legs around his waist and closed her fingers around his neck.

"Enlighten me, Boba, what our supreme commander hires bounty hunters for?"

"I'd be two-bit of a bounty hunter if I shared details of my work with my women".

Daala performed an acrobatic skit, shifting behind him, clasped Boba with her legs and bent over, peering into his face and tickling his chest and cheek,

"Work is over, Boba. Now, your job is to be my good boy."

New sad-suzie work immensely burdened Daala's bedmate. He sat locked in Admiral's quarters, sexually starved virago saddled him, rode him, forced to crawl on his knees in the nude, slightly smacking him with a lash and triumphantly putting her booted foot on Boba's bare ass. Boba, bring me this, Boba, give me that, Boba, put shoes on me... Boba shaved her legs, gritting his teeth and overcoming the desire to strangle Admiral. Hard and clumsy is sex slave's life!

"I have to catch and bring Vader a half-witted Jedi who can shoot lightning from his fingers", explained Boba, "preferably alive."

He showed Daala a hologram of low-browed, crewcut guy playing his swollen muscles. She admired,

"What a stud!"

"Vader warned that this dude gained enormous Force powers and knocked down a Star Destroyer from orbit with lightning."

"And you have taken on this? No offense, Boba, in the galaxy will be one less bounty hunter. With me you'll stay alive and kicking, all found. Don't be fool, Boba."

"Daala, let me go."

Admiral again looked at the hologram, at muscular shoulders with swollen veins, short bull neck and tiny eyes on the degenerative brow - and put her finger to her lip.

"Perhaps, Boba, I'll let you go - but you have to deliver this thug to ME. And then scram."

Fett brightened. Daala came up to him and flung her hands on his shoulders, a second later she was hanging on Boba, entwining his thighs with her legs. Boba had to support her in suspension.

"I'll drop you, even to Kamino, Boba," whispered Daala. "I have a private affair there."

Admiral of the Empire cuts through the galaxy on the Star Destroyer with 45 thousand in the crew, settling personal affairs? Boba softly chuckled. He kinda didn't believe in AWOL. However, if Daala has an order - from the same Vader! – it's not Boba's business.

Rain was shedding Kaminoan spaceport Timira - and didn't stop when Daala, accompanied by Fett and stormtroopers, splashed through the puddles to the entrance of the local clone factory. One of the stormtroopers held a useless umbrella above her head.

"Tell your subordinates to retrieve 38-year-old archival records," Daala said to the director of the factory, slouching in the chair and clasping her feet on the edge of the table. "I need to know who ordered a human female clone."

Director clapped his thin three-fingered hands.

"But ma'am, this is strictly prohibited! We don't disclose confidential information about the clientele!"

Daala's hand made expressive movement to the holster.

"I'm waiting", she reminded him, knocking the cigarette ash on the floor and exhaling the smoke directly into Kaminoans' wide nostrils.

At this point, a signal sung and the secretary babbled some alarming news - Daala frowned, not understanding the language. Director nervously tapped the button on the projector, and security officer's a hologram grew up,

"Boss, trouble! Jedi has broken into the factory!

The hologram blinked, and instead of Kaminoan face a two-fisted guy showed up, jumping overhead and crumbling showers of lightning into the Spaarti cylinders and chopping long Kaminoan necks of guards and unarmed employees with his scarlet blade. Standing in a puddle of liquid and piles of debris, the murderer thundered,

"Lord Vader grows my clones here. Clones are – no Vader! Where's Vader?"

"Just don't kill, Mr. Jedi!" the last surviving cloner squealed, plumping to his knees.

All employees who had time, had barricaded themselves in offices. Superiors with their deputies stretched their long necks to the monitor.

"It's his clones?" quietly inquired Daala.

"The second batch. He's a clone of the first batch, with rewritten memories."

"Why does he destroy his brothers?" Daala was perplexed.

"Jedi clones are invariably mentally unbalanced. We are looking for ways to solve this problem..."

"Fighting with him is useless", Boba summed up, "trying to figure out how to talk him to go with us willingly..."

"That's the trouble, Boba, Galen-2 doesn't know himself what he needs", cloner grieved.

"Well, why doesn't he?" Daala objected. "Galen-2 needs Vader. Have your people feed him and get him to bed. Tell him that a message has been sent to Vader, that Vader is already flying here. And I need special equipment..."

Galen-2 was temporarily pacified, and Boba was amazed when Daala some time later appeared in a black suit, famous helmet in her hand. The suit was hastily constructed on the model of available Vader's holograms, it was certainly not a complete life support system, but only an imitation of the design. Daala made director of the factory pay for this extra urgent order.

"Daala, you went off nut!" sincerely shared Boba. "He has the Force, he will expose your, heh, masquerade..."

"Calm down, Boba, I have the antidote."

Taozin needle stuck out from Daala's hair.

Kaminoans cautiously brought Daala and a dozen stormtroopers to the flat, allocated for Galen in a former dormitory for young clones.

At the sight of the imposing black figure Marek-2 immediately sat down, putting forward a blinkered head.

"Master, what a crap? I kinda this thing don't feel the Force!" the goon told instead of hello.

"Your Force has petered out, Galen-2, because you're a clone", calmly replied Daala. Vocoder in the black helmet transformed her voice in the mechanical bass, strained panting could be heard from the respirator. "Clone's abilities aren't unlimited, you've spent the rest of potential, inherited from your prototype."

"Whatchamacallit, that's that, kinda, at all!" Galen was all sorrow.

"Come on", Daala stretched out her gloved hand.

"Where?"

"To my ship."

"And then kinda to Coruscant, to kill the Emperor?" Galen-2 was revived, but then wilted. "How I kinda do such thing now then without the Force!"

"I'll share my Force with you, my young apprentice!" Daala was sheerly kidding. "Come on!"

Galen-2 got up and walked behind fluttering black cloak, like a docile bantha.

Before leaving Daala received from cloners her modest fee for the disposal of lightnings-flailing adversity. Just something that was originally requested - complete documentation about creating a serial number clone, a production error report, the refusal of the customer, some Sidious, and a copy of the adoption sales contract. Daala had long been acquainted with the legislation on cloning and knew that a clone does not have any right to claim a share of the inheritance, nor any property of its prototype.

"Master", Marek's clone persistently trailed behind the black hulk, "but how do you whatsit... you promised! It's like... Force for me... well, it is, whatsit..."

"Yes, Galen, of course. Come into my quarters."

When the door closed behind, Daala tore her black helmet off.

Galen-2 dropped his jaw.

"Master?"

Daala grinned,

"Yes, Galen, because you have never seen me without this mask!"

"Kinda..." the clone was choking. "This is that..."

"You see, my young friend", Daala put a helmet on the table, sighing, "the patriarchy that reigns in our society that still hasn't got rid of prejudice against women, forced me to hide my face for years, hide in this armor, suggestive of disability. In a society where there is still a prejudice about male and female occupations, I have chosen a male one, and to avoid exposure, I couldn't even afford to dine with others, Galen!"

"It's... I... well, like, that's it!"

"I'll share my Force with you, boy, as promised", with a carnivorous smile Daala started to disrobe. "Why are you standing, apprentice? Get down!"

Galen went to bed and was mercilessly used.

XXX

Boba pierced the viewport with angry gaze. Behind, in the darkness of space, Galen's lifeless body floated.

"Daala! I have to bring him to Vader, alive!"

"And you bring the corpse", Admiral replied serenely. "And better fetch a hologram. And no one will be cloned."

"I thought you've found a replacement and now let me go", Fett was boiling.

"It was dangerous to keep him", with a hint of faint regret responded Daala. Strong body, sturdy prick, hormones raging in hot blood - all that stuff had to be thrown overboard, so that Galen doesn't think that he's deceived. "And you..." She smoothed her tunic. "Fly, bird. Love can't be forced."

"I'll go to Slave 1!"

"To catch Galen?"

Boba nodded at full speed, without looking back.

"Once I have done all the work instead of you", shouted Daala, "you could still say goodbye!"

"I don't say goodbye. Maybe I'll see you. If you need bounty hunter services – reach out, I'll discount!"

Fett winked and headed to the nearest elevator. When Slave 1 left the docking gate, Gorgon disappeared into hyperspace corridor leading to Maw.

X X X

Painfully familiar sight - the design of the fifteen asteroids around which three Star Destroyers, numerous satellites and Death Star prototype were circling lazily. Gorgon took the familiar low orbit.

"Anything worth attention during my absence?" Daala wearily asked captain Mullinore, who was being left on command.

"No, ma'am."

Daala shrugged. So she thought.

Once Daala returned to her habitable office – her secretary reported that Xux came.

"Ma'am! Can I know, what decision is made about me, based on the viewing of my interrogation protocol?"

"Not thick of speech", Daala muttered. After enhanced radiation dose and the turbulence in the narrow corridor between black holes hauling Gorgon in their insatiable jaws from all sides, her chest and head ached - a consequence of shrapnel wound in the battle with Rebels in Horuz system. Daala felt her scar from a craniotomy under regrown hair, trying to suppress a grimace of pain, continued,

"Don't trouble trouble until trouble troubles you, goosey. If you haven't come, I would not remember."

Qwi kept on standing, question marks hanging in her eyes.

"The boy hallucinated. Constantly thinks of you, sulks with adults."

"I am glad that I've purged myself of suspicion."

However, after the Korriban incident Qwi's image has badly tarnished. Daala was sure.

Admiral pressed her palm to hers once pierced temple. Perhaps Roganda was right - "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven", and she should be glad that she wasn't transferred from the cozy Maw under turbolaser fire. Here, in the Maw, she is at the top, and in echoing loneliness. Daala didn't find it necessary to let her minions into the details of her forays, but at times, even often inability even to talk to someone in human terms, rather than bark orders, nagged her. But she couldn't help but reveal the brightest news, especially since the companion has participated indirectly in the largest genocide in the history of the Empire, if not the entire galaxy.

Daala weakly smiled and motioned her with her finger.

"Look."

Qwi bent over datapad. Daala copied the record of superlaser testing.

"What planet is this?"

"Alderaan."

Xux hasn't changed her countenance. Finally Daala gave way,

"What do you think?"

"What is required of me, ma'am?"

"To tear your feathers. Moan that conscience tortures you. Bitterly regret that you'd participated in this project."

"Pulling out my feathers won't resurrect them", Xux replied laconically. "And I've wept all the tears in OIFEC. Apparently, I am the last of my people."

Daala showed another hologram.

"And it's not your kinsman?"

"Who is he?" Qwi admired.

"Look at his badge."

"Grand Admiral?.."

"Thrawn. A great animal-lover, breeds ysalamiri", Daala plunged her finger into the hologram – a tailed pet curled on blue-skinned man's shoulders.

Xux smiled sugary, blue eyes clouded dreamily. Daala shook her head and then grimaced from the pain that pierced her brain. She gave an idea for the girl's bedtime fantasies! And it looks like the image of Thrawn impressed her far more than the news of the genocide of Alderaan!

XXX

Teachings in orbit took place under the motto "grow lazy here without me?". Manticore burped a TIE squadron, that Daala not without sarcasm dubbed "Sons of Bitch." SOBs represented the pirates, others have demonstrated effective action for the disposal.

Once Daala was back on the planetoid, Kanda, comm officer, rushed to her.

"Ma'am! Someone was rummaging through your computer in LAN, and contacted Coruscant."

"From my office?" Daala went ballistic, cursing herself for that she didn't change the code for the electronic lock for years. Carelessness, Palpatine said to her...

"Y-yes, ma'am", comm officer replied, trembling. "First, your computer was hacked, then entered and personally called to..."

"Coruscant - this is not the answer, Kanda!" Daala snapped. "Speak directly - you didn't take a bearing, you are only able to record the fact, a posteriori!"

"Y-yes, ma'am," comm officer bowed his head.

"Idiots." Daala began to pace in the office. Early to shrug off the suspicion against Xux, she thought. However, to make sure, Daala decided to go beyond the usual blue candidate, and the famous lie detector hasn't been cooled under the constantly changing suspects, and they were not just scientists, but this cup didn't pass from officers, staff and the soldiery, too. Daala decided to go in alphabetical order. Maw Installation was swept with denunciation fever. Everyone climbed out of their way, trying to tarnish their neighbor. Movements of Maw employees were restored almost to the minute. In short, a lot of work fell upon Daala and her assistants, two weeks have gone and the investigation seemed endless.

Once professor Renn Volz dauntlessly perched himself in the famous chair, completely without fear of execution - he knew he was innocent! - as Daala was reported that uninvited guests are in the Maw.

Wafting the flickering gas whirligigs, from behind the veil that separated the planetoid from the corridor between the black holes, wedge-shaped ISD carcass emerged. A broadband signal immediately ran from Gorgon,

"Unknown Star Destroyer, identify yourself and the arriving purpose..."

"Admonitor, arrived on call from the Installation."

"Transmit the access code..."

They transmitted.

While subordinates were negotiating, Daala looked at the monitor in disbelief. She knew that Admonitor was assigned to Grand Admiral Thrawn, and now she was at a loss. Really, Thrawn has come.

The shuttle delivered Grand Admiral on the planetoid and, after docking, the gateway spat passengers. Daala's troops lined up in neat rows in the hangar, and Admiral, despite the again-raging headache, stood at attention like a junior officer. After exchanging greetings Daala asked,

"What has brought you, sir?"

"Got a message that your Installation provides me with collateral equipment."

Daala crossed her arms. Grand Moff Tarkin had not contacted her after her voyage to the Death Star. In any case, if he decided to provide Thrawn with some equipment from Maw Installation, he was obliged to let Daala know. Did not see fit? Is it possible? And is a mysterious call from her transmitter associated with Thrawn's apparition?

"Grand Moff's order", Daala demanded.

Thrawn didn't beckon his aide, who didn't present any signed and sealed epistolet, no datapad with the order, encrypted with personal ID of the governor. Thrawn simply raised his eyebrows and said,

"You give a reason to consider that you aren't brought up to date."

While Thrawn and Daala tried to find out details of an unfortunate misunderstanding, Daala's aide hesitated on the sidelines. When Admiral at last deigned to pay attention, the uniformed secretary told that Dr. Xux asks permission to speak with the Grand Admiral.

"What does Dr. Xux do?" Thrawn lazily inquired.

"Qwi Xux is a weapon designer, incidentally, a part of Death Star developers team", uttered Daala, and Thrawn immediately imagined a gaunt bespectacled man, lipless mouth, wrinkle on his high forehead guzzled away with thoughts, and spiky gray hair. An unbuttoned lab coat is thrown over his military uniform, and everybody calls him "Doc."

Thrawn was brought into a small conference room - an oval table occupied almost all premises. He rose to meet a fragile, sugary girl with pale blue skin and a waterfall of whitish feathers.

"Good evening," she said in a gentle, lilting voice, smiling coyly. "My name is Qwi Xux. This was me who sent you a message."

"And what is a piece of equipment you are going to give me?" Grand Admiral asked skeptically, folding his white-gloved hands. Ysalamiri on his master's shoulders pricked up his ears.

"Myself!" The blonde bathed him in the glow of her smile. "The color of your skin tells us that we can have kids."

Twins. Two boys. So dreamed Xux.

The first Grand Admiral's impulse was to grab his head and moan. Thrawn was heading to the Unknown Regions with mapping expedition, which had every chance to grow into conquistador raid. But first off, only one Star Destroyer was singled out for him. He received a message from Maw – Admonitor's course was corrected, to go into the Unknown Regions through Kessel. And instead of the promised equipment there was an ecstatic girl who went to the forgery, infiltrated Admiral's office and used her transmitter, cracking her password-protected files with the Admiralty access codes, figured out how to hit Thrawn up... Her energy and skills would do much for peaceful purposes.

"I am going on a mission, not a cruise. Because of you we made a useless detour."

Qwi raised her thin arms, and let a tragic tingle in her voice,

"I turn to you for help, like... blue one to blue one. Help me get out of here. When I was ten, I was among gifted children, proven in the regional competitions, who were taken to OIFEC - Omwati Intense Forced Education Camp, so intense that nine boys died from overwork, only I survived. I was sent here to work. Taken away, lodged, forced to, no leave or salary - slavery! I have nowhere to go, I have no ship, and my home planet is in ruins after orbital bombardment. I have to deal with the weapons development, engage in a senseless bloodbath, to live with the knowledge that I, pacifist by conviction, had a hand in the explosion of planets populated with civilians, with the birds and animals!"

Not a muscle moved on Thrawn's stony face.

"I'm at work, young lady. I can't take passengers."

"You have 50 thousand people on board - really no place for me alone?" Xux smiled sugary. "I'm sure that you have no one. You fill that void with love for animals", here Xux took a dry biscuit from her pocket, broke off a piece and tried to feed ysalamiri. He turned his nose aside. "I'll brighten up your loneliness..."

If she managed to get aboard Admonitor in some trunk... Thrawn would have nothing left to take her away as a passenger.

Qwi caught Grand Admiral by the arm and as if by accident touched his chest. She wanted Thrawn himself to touch her breasts, grab the left one, then the right, she would have screamed - softly, playfully, with a joyful willingness, then she would give birth to twins, two boys...

"My ysalamiri doesn't like you", Thrawn cut off and left the room.

XXX

Xux sadly watched Thrawn's ship depart.

"Ysalamiri took a bite of his wedding tackle or something."

Daala grinned, scorn and sorrow mingled in her glance.

"Goosey, you offered him yourself as a lover? Not every guy will agree to take in kind! You should have promised some money, maybe then he'd agree to take you away."

"I paid Chirs all that I had", Xux shrugged. Daala realized that this was the Devaronian from Hawk.

"Qwi! I understand that you are fuck-starved, but you've fucked up our coordinates! You violated the Grand Moff's direct and unambiguous order!"

"May his ysalamiri plop all over his white tunic, may a black hole pull in his Star Destroyer", Xux muttered to herself.

"You provided him with correct coordinates", Daala smiled wryly. "It won't pull him in".

"Shame that he wasn't on Alderaan!"

Daala sincerely regretted that the job description forbad to jettison scientists - or throw them the food synthesizer, splitting raw materials into proteins and carbohydrates. "You can jettison cannon fodder", Tarkin elucidated at the time, "you can and should, we have a lot of cannon fodder. But they are brains. We must save them. Maximum - the cooler. "

But the latest Xux' trick - it's definitely overboard. Fly, catch up Thrawn!

Maintaining super secrecy, Daala, taking command of the new-built Installation, provided the departing builders with incorrect coordinates. Ships with the workers and engineers disappeared in the next black hole. Shame that we can't repeat the same trick with Thrawn. For a moment she considered the option to invite Grand Admiral at dinner, previously whispering a couple of words to the cook. When Thrawn is poisoned, she offers his men to join her team; given that they were four times outnumbered, his deputy would hardly decide to fight. Daala shuddered and shook her head, sweeping the absurd thought away; secrecy - from the Imperials? Sometimes it came to her mind: What if everyone will forget about them? If something happens with the curator - a terrorist act, resignation - then there will be nobody to help them, nobody will know the location of Maw. Thrawn had been released alive and healthy, so that in case she had somebody to turn to. And Xux went to the cooler.


	12. Windbags

**Chapter 12 – Windbags**

Lemelisk returned from Carida. Thick-lipped, flabby, he bulged his one eye,

"Give Xux back."

"She is punished."

"We all work hard here, and she rests. I need an assistant. Bring back my assistant at her workplace!"

"In your absence she had committed a very serious offense. I cannot release her from custody."

She couldn't tell Lemelisk that his assistant hacked the communication system and transmitted a message to Coruscant in the name of Admiral Daala. He'll laugh down.

"While I was away, did chairwarmers stage a sit-in under your wakeful eye?" Bevel's artificial eye flashed a red light. "So return my assistant, I have her deal with her immediate duties, she has no time for nonsense."

Daala couldn't put her on trial, and not only because of the undesirability of outgoing messages from Maw, but also because Xux was officially deceased, Grand Moff Tarkin put her in the list of those killed in the bombing of Omwat. She had to order to release the prisoner from custody.

No one in the scientific town commented on her absence and return. Indifference. At the sight of the man who has outblustered her release, Qwi asked,

"What happened to your eye?"

"Got into a gunfight with Rebels... there was an explosion on the ship - seven dead, five invalided, I've been left one-eyed."

"The best brains of the Empire almost smeared on the wall!" squeaked Lemelisk, describing all the encountered how attacks on the Imperial vessels became more rapid. Revenge for Alderaan, Daala thought. Imperial media, of course, were silent about the explosion of two planets, but ships, sent into a fiefdom of Bail Organa, found meteorite field on the place of the world. Soon, very soon the authorities will have to publish an official explanation for the disappearance of one of the most famous and prosperous planets, and strike Alderaan out from maps.

Once Daala also visited the planet, its inhabitants were famous for their anxious attitude to the environment, building their cities on a rocky plateau, on the glacier to avoid damage to vegetation. Then she was still a captain of the Tarkin's flagship Executrix. On the way from the spaceport to Organa's estate she and Tarkin were angrily discussing the ban on hunting at Alderaan.

...Bail Organa said:

"Sweety, Grand Moff Tarkin had come to us to propose."

Leia was taken aback:

"Dad, he's old... and married!"

Bail put his arm around her shoulders:

"Of course, Leia, he is a matchmaker. He came to match you for His Majesty the Emperor."

Leia turned crimson. Bail with a pleasant smile pushed his daughter:

"And now run quickly to change clothes, take a loaf, we'll meet the matchmaker with bread and salt."

Leia went to the balcony. A heavily armored speeder approached to the mansion, liveried slave Ackbar jumped out and opened the door to Grand Moff Tarkin and Captain Daala. Tarkin saw Leia in the window and waved in greeting. Leia made a high leg swing and knocked the vase with flowers down from the windowsill. The vase fell on Tarkin's head.

Ackbar muttered,

"It's a trap."

Leia yelled,

"NOOOO! I WON'T MARRY PALPATINE!"

Then Bail appeared on the balcony. Smiling broadly, he waved his hand,

"Happy Fool's Day!"

A few minutes later wet, disheveled Tarkin stood in the living room, towel on his shoulders. Bail danced around him,

"It was a joke! So sorry, so sorry, joke, joke!"

"Well, let it be a joke..." Grand Moff grated. "And now let's discuss the placement of our military base on Alderaan."

Leia screamed,

"What base? You came to match me!"

Tarquin wrapped a towel around his neck and grumpily responded,

"Captain Daala and I came to discuss the question of placement of our military base with the viceroy, and the matchmaking was just your daddy's unsuccessful joke."

"NOOOO! We are peaceful planet, we won't let you!"

"Leia, sweety", Bail drawled in an attempt to portray the conviction - and told Tarkin actually the same, but unlikely verbose.

Tarkin left for the Death Star, and very soon admitted the royal visit, for the sovereign was really interested in how the construction of the station giant was getting on.

Roganda asked her patron to take her along to the Death Star. She was afraid to remain on Coruscant alone, without Palpatine: the other day she took some street passer-by for the murderer and rapist Galen Marek.

Seeing a sugary girl in Palpatine's suite - prom dress, prom hair, prom age - Daala experienced an indescribable scorn. If the miracle hung with jewels with a feather in her hair kept her mouth shut, silently blinking her eyes, as befits a doll - but, while Palpatine and Tarkin were talking business, not intended for the ears of their subordinates, Roganda came up to Captain and expressed immense surprise: they say that women were not admitted to the ranks of the gallant Imperial army...

"It's not prohibited", Daala said, "just not the done thing."

After two or three no less annoying questions about how the male majority feels about her, Daala remembered and decided to resort to Bail Organa's joke.

"Your patron probably hasn't told you yet... Grand Moff Tarkin and I have traveled to Alderaan to match HIM with Alderaanian Princess Leia."

When Palpatine come from the meeting, Roganda met him – and, not hurrying to help to change, began,

"Master, should I congratulate you?"

"On what?"

"...On your wedding with Alderaanian Princess Leia."

"Now, whatever gave you that idea?"

"Captain Daala said that..." Roganda retold the conversation.

Palpatine snorted,

"Good fiancé I will make in my eighties. Not to mention that I have never seen Bail Organa's daughter."

"Does it matter, if it's a good marriage…"

"70 million planets pay taxes to me. A marriage to a princess of only one planet would be too paltry. Especially, the daughter of my long-time opponent. Do not be ridiculous."

Anyway, Roganda thought, an excellent way to pacify the opposition leader is to marry his daughter. Rather, she decided, Palpatine made a formal proposal to Leia, but got the gate. Roganda found a couple of actualities from Alderaan in Holonet - here Bail cuts a ribbon, there he broadcasts about the ecology - where his daughter stood next to him, a plain girl, but with an enviable dowry.

Palpatine ordered to isolate Captain Daala and to apply the death penalty for the distribution of derogatory statements about the emperor.

Roganda was not supposed to know about it - because he has a good uncle image. When the droid led the washed and dressy Jedi survivor in imperial boudoir, Palpatine played a savior, but saw a poorly concealed fear and loathing - it turned out, Roganda was to be a Padawan of Ahsoka Tano, who has never waited for her knighthood - she was shot by clones on the order of their commander in chief.

Palpatine put the girl on his lap and earnestly began,

"Baby, I've never had in mind to destroy the Order. I was going to just convert the Jedi, but Vader, blinded by rage at his brothers in arms and in the Force – they didn't grant him a rank of master, didn't give him a place in the Council - broke into the Temple, shredded Padawans there... I tried to reason with him, to hold him, I told him: wait, you are too young, but he perpetrated a massacre... And he also gave Order 66."

"And why do you keep this butcher with you?" asked Roganda.

"I keep him to restrain from other mischiefs."

On another occasion, answering the same question, he sighed,

"Out of pity. Darth Vader has done a couple of small services in the past, insignificant", Palpatine waved his hand dismissively, "and now, when he became disabled... I don't know why I keep him after the injury, he became useless to me."

Without trial, Daala was sent to prison at Despayre. Tarkin, using his official position, has obtained a visit to death row dweller. Pressing his hand to clear transparisteel wall to which Daala's palm stuck from the other side, Tarkin heard her voice in the comlink,

"I just wanted to trot Palpatine's mistress. Repeated Bail Organa's joke to her... Because this silly female just irritated me."

XXX

Vader gave his apprentice a holocron,

"Learn, Galen!"

"Ha! Whose is it?"

Galen reached his powerful hand, but Vader stopped the holocron floating through the air, and the pyramid hung midway.

"It's holocron of the founder of the New Sith Order, the great reformer... Well?"

Galen shook his closely cropped head,

"Nah!"

"Make out", concluded Vader and stamped away.

A diligent student sat on the floor, legs crossed, and activated the holocron. Appeared a hologram of a bald, husky man all over grown with shells.

"Whoa! What's this on you?" Galen was shocked.

"It's orbalisks, young apprentice! These parasites cause me unbearable pain, but pain makes a Sith stronger! And a lightsaber cannot burn through them, I have become immune. Plant a couple thousand vivifying orbalisks on your frail body, young apprentice, and you shall have power!"

"Hey, no, lord Bane, no way!" said the practical Galen, waving from the hologram with both hands. "I'll somehow get along without them."

"I began as a mere miner, young apprentice", Bane began narratively. "Only then I got dry behind the ears, got orbalisks..."

"Don't tell me about orbalisks again!"

XXX

Tarkin used his influence, pulled all strings and dragged his protégé out from prison. At the Grand Moff's urging a report on Daala's execution was sent to Palpatine, and after it a jail keeper's denunciation ran.

Daala, replacing prison overalls with her tunic and breeches, was looking at the hologram that displayed the route to the center of a black hole cluster, to the station, placed in hollowed asteroids, held together by bridges.

"You cannot imagine what I've undergone to get you out of there!" Tarkin gritted his teeth. "I went beyond my commission, I frauded in act to report to emperor that you received a lethal injection... You will go to black hole cluster, and don't dare to contact the outer world - you realize what is this fraught with!"

And so Daala thought that Palpatine did not know where was Maw, Tarkin thought that Palpatine did not know where was Daala, and Palpatine meanwhile instructed the knelt cyborg,

"Vader, you'll go watch Tarkin on the building Death Star. I have my grounds not to trust this man."

"Should I choke him, master?"

"Not yet. I still have use of him."

But not for long. As chance offers, Palpatine recalls Tarkin's attempt of fraud.

When Vader peered into Galen's quarters again – to ask about the progress, Starkiller was perplexedly staring at little pile of melted fragments, smoke rose above it.

"Galen, the Sith passed this holocron from master to apprentice for thousand years!" Vader wailed. "How in the hell have you destroyed it?"

Starkiller sadly spread his powerful hands,

"Er, well, he asked, I answered, and the holocron, whatsit..."

Galen's undeveloped speech, according to Vader, was not a vice. If the apprentice is questioned, not a single investigator, even supported by torture droid and cryptanalysts, won't be able to pull a clear answer out of the thug. And he, Vader, thanks to connection established between them in the Force, could in case draw from Galen's memory series of relevant images. Here and now: Darth Vader clearly saw the holographic Bane ask,

"Do you have a purpose in life, young apprentice?"

"Kill the Emperor!" Marek vigorously reported.

"Why?"

"Well, whatsit… To fuck his babe!"

Holocron exploded.

Galen stared in disbelief at the smoking debris until Vader came.

"Master, why he was like that, sorta?" Starkiller timidly inquired.

"From anger, pho-phh, because of your straightforwardness."

"Eh?"

"You shouldn't say what you think, especially to a strange man!"

"But it's not a man", thoughtfully said Galen. And, in developing his idea, he continued: "He died a thousand years ago! Why not?"

"And what is the reason for the regicide", Vader was suffocating, "it turns out, because of a woman!"

"But I really need", Galen told sadly. "And in another way I can't get to her..."

Vader was about to interrupt Galen in mid sentence, "You must kill the emperor, because this is your master's order, my will!", but stopped: a personal motive in addition is a great impulsion to act.

XXX

Daala rose from the table, went to the porthole, Death Star prototype floated behind. Hasn't she become like the naive goosey Xux, who came to Coruscant with Irek hoping that his parents admit her, and when she failed, she framed up Thrawn's visit - in the same foolish hope? She, Daala, just like her, rushed through the galaxy trying to curry favor with Palpatine, to escape the shackles of Maw - and nothing is achieved, because at one time she firmly prejudiced him against herself.

XXX

Darth Vader looked thoughtfully at the carbonite sculpture. He Force-probed the frozen body. Galen's internal organs and blood vessels were intact, they did not explode from the pressure - already good, and Vader reasonably assumed that Galen had to dive into a trance, to Force-protect himself from cold and radiation of outer space. Hopeful, Vader switched on defrost. Galen fell to the floor, trembling, uncertainly rubbed his eyes with his fists,

"Pheeeeeeeeew… What was it?"

"You've been in outer space, pho-phh. How did you let that Forceless mediocrity, generic bounty hunter, destroy your ship?"

"Naaahhh..." Galen was surprised. "What hunter, no way!"

"Boba Fett shot up your jalopy and threw you into space..."

"Nooooope, Master, kinda, noes, whatsit", hard protested Galen. Vader sighed and put his hand on apprentice's low forehead, reading his memories. Seeing the image of the impostor Galen followed without a murmur, like a bantha, Vader shouted,

"Galen, you moron! You moron, Galen!"

"What's up, Master?"

"Galen, pho-phh, look at me! Do you now think, pho-phh, that this bitch and me is the same person?" the stump of a man suffered.

Galen was still very weak and couldn't rise from his knees. Seeing his mentor's genuine outrage, the clone fell to the floor,

"Noooope... I'm sorry, Master!"

"This woman is Admiral Daala, although I have not the slightest idea what she did on Kamino, and how you ended up in carbonite on Boba Fett's Slave – there's no Fett in your memory."

Galen digested the information and said,

"Master, can I first get back on Daala, and then kill the emperor?"

"You can!" Vader said without thinking. Galen immediately revived,

"Master, you can everything, find out for me, where's Daala..."

"No, Galen. She is on her territory. She has once easily finished with you..."

"Master, will you give me the coordinates and access codes for that base?.."

Vader sighed heart-wrenchingly. Yes, the clone has fully retained all the features of the original. Even the penchant for pranks because of women (Vader involuntarily recalled Darth Bane's holocron explosion).

"So, you're asking for leave?"

"Yes, yes! I'll get through, and..."

"And I will not let you go! I need you here. My personal assistant. And didn't you forget, Galen, that you shouldn't let anybody see you? Everyone who sees you must die."

"I remember, Master, I remember everything! Well, I've shredded the cloners for that. And she stole me out... u-uh... can I, whatsit, with her?"

"Your personal affairs are not compatible with your main responsibilities - you remember", Vader waved his prosthetic devices, and Galen nodded his shorn head, yes, yes, kill the Emperor! "Daala serves on the outskirts of the galaxy, she isn't dangerous so far. She is far away. When an opportunity arises, then I gave you my permission."

XXX

The extensive wiretaps system on the Death Star fixed many conversations on daily basis, and interesting ones were rare. But in today's haul such an amusing conversation was discovered, that the record was immediately transferred to Grand Moff himself. They were able to eavesdrop on Darth Vader's talk with thawed carbonite statue, that the newcomer had brought on his ship and told them to put in his quarters.

It was impossible to understand how and where Galen Marek had crossed with Daala, but Vader's unwillingness to let his assistant go to the Maw didn't encourage Tarkin. Tarkin remembered how Galen Marek soared up into the air, spreading around the energy wave, and the centrifugal force threw soldiers right and left, pulling the metal beams out and crushing ceilings. So, Vader cloned the thug. Tarkin imagined Marek rush through Maw Installation corridors, destroying everything in his path, strewn with corpses, and Daala, and Xux and Lemelisk hide around the corner with their useless blasters. It's good that he has already send the one-eyed man back to the Maw, otherwise Marek, Force forbid, would have penetrated to his ship and made his way safely to the black hole cluster - and farewell to his favorite brainchild. Tarkin knew firsthand that sometimes a whole garrison was powerless against a Jedi.


End file.
